Hush
by rensrenegade
Summary: Butters Stotch is barely making ends meet as he nears the end of his college education. What Butters doesn't know is on one particularly snowy evening his doldrum job as a pizza delivery boy will change his life and bring back a ghost of his past that he finds out vanished for all of the wrong reasons. Rated for violence, graphic content, language.
1. March 21, 10:45 PM

_Author's Note: This is not my story but I'm posting it because the person who wrote it does not wish to sign up for account nor wants the credit for it. So I will direct you to calpernicusstew on tumblr if you want to know who wrote it._

_This story will be very graphic, constant trigger warnings. This is going to be a disturbing story, this will not be for the faint of heart. _

_But it's beautiful and depicts something around the world that is only beginning to gather awareness. _

_I don't want to give too much away, but much of this material will be sinister. This is not a love story. It's rated M for a reason, but not the reasons you're hoping. _

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><p>Have you ever heard the sound of raindrops dripping on a leaf? The rain comes to wash everything new, the clouds hover and then dissipate, and the sun finally peeks through the darkness. The contrast of the looming black clouds to the brightness of the sun creates a contrast on the earth; darkness is highlighted and lightness shadowed. There is tone and a new look to our world.<p>

And that's how Butters sees the world every day.

Everything is new and everything is different.

Because with every step you could be getting closer and closer to destiny. To fate. And you may not even know it. That's the beautiful thing about the way the world works; we don't understand it, no matter how hard we try.

Butters can smell the pizza next to him. It makes the car warm, and far warmer than his broken heater can even attempt. The windows and windshield fog up slightly, and he wipes the gathered steam from his vision. He just needs to drive a couple more minutes, drop off this pizza, and then he's off the clock.

Then he would be able to focus on his homework; the pile of economy readings had grown immensely, and tonight was his only night he could actually attempt to dwindle the pile down somewhat. He would curl up in his small apartment next to his college with a lukewarm tea in hand and read by flashlight because he may have skipped out on paying the electric bill again.

His choice was between paying the bill or paying tuition; last month had gone to books.

His car rumbles rather than purrs. The old Chevy is near its final sputter but he pushes it as far as it can go. He has just a couple of months left and then he would graduate. Thankfully he had the choice to follow his parents' wishes; a degree in accounting would go far beyond a degree in English.

Too bad his parents disowned him anyway; otherwise he wouldn't be in this mess. But being a pizza delivery boy is far better than his alternative; and remembering the nights he sold his body makes him wish he had hot water to scrub at his filthy skin.

Butters looks up at the address on the apartment building, then down at the address on the receipt. 2821 North Lexington. This was the area he tries to avoid because he knows that even though selling his body made his skin crawl and caused him to become sick, the temptation is still there. One night alone had managed to pay his rent. One night was enough for a lifetime.

With a soft sigh, the twenty-two year old picks up the pizza (he had made it himself) and opens the door. He tugs on his hat to cover his hair which he let grow to an almost bothersome length at his shoulder, and heads up the icy sidewalk. He's careful to not slip on the black ice and keeps his eyes on the ground so he would avoid tripping on the uneven and cracked pavement. His thin jacket is too little to preserve his warmth; he can feel the heat from his body roll off his shoulders. Butters is left a trembling mess as he approaches the apartment.

The number on the receipt is for the complex 1680. He glances around, spots it one row over, and decides to walk in the snow rather than on the sidewalk; there was less chance of him getting hurt or dropping the pizza that way.

The wind is bitter as it strikes his cheeks. His skin is raw and rough from constantly being exposed to the freezing environment and brittle winds that wrack the state of Colorado. Being at home isn't much of a relief; he often stays awake as he shakes to the core while the cold fills his apartment. He has woken up to his hands around a blown out candle; for a brief moment that fire's flicker was enough to warm him just a little bit.

He is careful as he walks up the three steps and presses the call box outside of the complex. The apartment number is 305, and he hears the phone ring a couple of times before someone picks up.

"Yeah?" he hears a voice that is distorted by the ancient call box.

"I have a pizza for Rodrick?" Butters finds his tone to be questioning rather than expressing a statement. These moments were always nerve-wracking. Damn his social anxiety.

"Gimme a sec," he hears a clatter and a cry before the phone call ends. The lock clicks and he hesitantly enters the apartment building.

Instantly his eyes water as he feels a blast of heat on his face. He wants to just lay down and fall asleep but knows that would probably be the worst place to do so. For now he bites his lip and simply enjoys the gentle thaw of his body as he enters the elevator; the closed space is always warmer than the stairways. And he was going to bask in the heat as long as he possibly could.

Butters presses the button for the third floor and holds tight to the railing as the elevator jerks into motion; maybe this wasn't a good idea. With every foot closer to ascension the old elevator creaks and groans, shaking as it approaches the second, and then the third floor.

The doors slowly open and the blonde quickly exits the elevator; there was no way he was going on there again. Scratching is heard in the walls, accompanied by squeaks of rodents in the ceilings, and he grimaces slightly. A large beetle scuttles by his feet and, before freaking out, Butters questions how the insect is alive in these temperatures.

Butters approaches Apartment 305 and raps his fingers on the door gently. A tinny sounding radio shuts off and he hears a slightly annoyed but slightly turned on moan. Well then; pizza during sex wasn't exactly unheard of.

"Answer the fuckin' door, bitch," he hears the gravelly voice of the man known to him only as Rodrick bark to whoever has the misfortune of being his partner; whether it's long-term or for the night Butters can't help but feel for her.

The sound of someone tripping is soon heard and Rodrick laughs sharply before a bang, followed by shattering glass, is heard against the wall. Butters was beginning to consider leaving the pizza and running without payment, but he really needs whatever measly tip this asshole is going to give him. Even a quarter will help pay for laundry, or Ramen that he can't cook.

The door screeches open and Butters takes a step back. His jaw hangs loose as he catches sight of the person before him with a large cut to her cheek and a swollen eye. Her body is much too thin to be healthy and is marked with dark bruises along her chest and arms. Except as he gazes closer at her broken face he realizes this isn't particularly a _she_.

"Kenny McCormick?"

Butters Stotch never thought he would ever say that name again. That person in his life had vanished nearly seven years ago without a trace. He had left his friends and family behind with a note that simply said he was going to California because his boss at the strip club he worked at had said he found him a gig that would pay far more than stripping.

"I'm sorry," the quiet voice whimpers and his eyes lower to the ground, "I don't know who that is."

But Butters shakes his head. There is no way this _can't_ be Kenny. Even now, after years, Butters knows he would be able to recognize his former best friend. Not even what appeared to Butters as a year's worth of hormone therapy would allow him to mistake Kenny McCormick for another.

"Kenny, it's Butters!" He gasps in a hushed whisper and takes a glance into the apartment. Trash is strewn everywhere, as are clothes, and it looks as if the place is in far worse condition than Butters' apartment. He finds himself suddenly thankful for what he did have.

"I have your money, keep the change," The smaller man (or is it woman?) says louder this time, and practically shoves the money into Butters' pocket. "Take it and go." As Butters looks at Kenny's hand, he realizes he is missing his pinky on his right hand, and a knuckle on his left index finger.

"Get the fuck in 'ere, ya filthy cunt! I ain't payin' as much as I am fer a viewin'!" Butters hands over the pizza and jumps in alarm when the door slams in his face. Before he loses sight and contact with Kenny, however, he notices something peculiar.

The man, known as Rodrick, has a leash in his hand. And Kenny was wearing the collar.

And just like that the sunlight is lost behind the shadowy clouds. Just like that the leaves fall, and rain turns to scratching ice against the pavement and the snow. Building and building until you can't attempt a venture into the world. You are stuck, isolated, only to remember the comforting sound of raindrops and the first halo of sun after days of rain. Remember that feeling and hold it close.


	2. March 21, 11:28 PM

_Author's Note: I warn you, this is not a light read. This is going to be intense, very graphic, very grotesque and honestly I'm nervous posting it on here. However, it's going to be an incredible story... and it won't be all bad. It won't just be Butters and Kenny either. The plan is to have Kyle, Stan, Cartman, Craig, Tweek, Bebe, Wendy, Token, Clyde, and various family members in this as well. They may not all fit, but it's the plan. So far the first five that were listed have been fit in, as well as Karen. _

_Past tense means it happened in the past. Present tense means present. It's not just a weird thing happening.  
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_Note: I will be writing some of these scenes.  
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_Another note. There is a trigger warning for this chapter. There will pretty much be a trigger warning for every chapter so there's no point in me pointing it out. Just be forewarned. _

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><p>"There is something about you," Kenny's boss Jonny said as he stared with lewd eyes at the boy across from him as he wiped off his makeup. "Something about your passion that stands out to me."<p>

The fifteen year old laughed and turned to face the middle aged man.

"Yeah," Kenny replied, tucking his costumes into his duffel bag. "I need the tips."

Jonny laughed and put an arm around the small boy's shoulder. Kenny could smell the cheap liquor and chew tobacco on his breath.

"You're my best dancer," Jonny began, "we all know it. How 'bout... I propose you a deal." Kenny looked up at the heavy set man with genuine curiosity. Most of his nights ended like this anyway. "I'm moving to California and I want you to go with me. There is a friend of mine who has seen you perform... and let's just say he's very interested in what you have to offer. Many of his dancers make their way in the acting and modeling world. Think about it, Ken, you can bring in more money for your sister- in fact, she could even come with you!"

Kenny was silent as he mulled over Jonny's words. He could go to California and strip for the high rollers before bedding them; he shivered at the thought of how much he could make in just an hour with one of them. He could bring so much more money in for Karen and the rest of his family. Maybe he could even go to college... if he kept up his studies.

All he knew was he had to do this. There was no way he could pass up this opportunity. For now he simply had to go home, pack his clothes, and leave Karen a note.

"Okay," Kenny agreed with a small smile. He watched as Jonny poured him a drink and handed the crystal glass to him. His small hands clutched the fine glass and clinked it with Jonny's as a toast to whatever this was he was about to do. It had to be good though. Kenny watched as Jonny took a sip of the drink and followed suit.

It tasted salty.

42 lurches forward and barely has time to turn his head before he vomits out the contents of his stomach. He managed to eat half a pizza tonight; he was still cherishing the melted cheese and warm dough. Hot food was foreign. Because of the gracious offering for whatever reason, he was going to try even harder, love his sires more, and be grateful as Master threw him in the basement, down the stairs to curl up in his bed that was nothing more than an old stained sheet on the cement ground.

The acrid taste of vomit doesn't sit well in his throat. He gags and heaves but his stomach is empty; nothing more than organs, acid, and bodily fluids that weren't necessarily his sit and fester in his body.

He was being rewarded tonight. Before being shut downstairs, Master told him he had done well for the night. Especially considering how old he was. Soon his figure wasn't going to be desired. Soon he was going to be too damaged to be of service. Soon no one was going to ask for him, and then he would be put down. Part of him was anxiously waiting the day he would finally give out and feel the calm relief of a bullet in his brain. He was growing tired of the same motions, and of being caged. But he was too far gone to try and fight again. The last time he did...

But seeing that face brings him to this new breaking point. Hearing that voice is beginning to remind him of a past he didn't have. He is nothing. No one. He isn't even _he_. He is It. And It is 42. And why can't it be number 1?

Master reminds him nearly every night he was abandoned. Master had saved him and loves him more than anyone; despite how hard he puts up a fight. Why does he fight against the one who loves him? He was bad and undeserving of such affection and compassion. Why does he try to run? There is no life out there for him. He is nothing. And he deserves the wounds he has. He goes against Master and the love he offers him. A little bit of temporary pain is his punishment for trying to abandon the one person who cares for him.

42 keeps his cheek to the floor and lays there. His body shudders as he fights off the chill in the dark basement. The door above bursts open and his eyes sting at the flash of light before everything grows dark once more. He can't see anything but the flashlight in the hands of his Master. It has to be his Master. He was good tonight and when he's good he gets to spend the night with him. Sometimes upstairs, even.

"Were you good tonight?" He bites his tongue as he hears Master speak. That isn't the _good_ tone. What did he do? He didn't try anything. "Answer me."

"Yes," he manages, before biting his cheek as a sharp blow causes a crunching noise in the back of his head. His vision blurs and his stomach swims with nausea once more.

"That's not what I heard." 42 covers his mouth with his hand as he feels the sharp snap of a whip on his naked backside. "Who did you speak to tonight?"

"N-no one," he barely gets out before the whip slices into his stomach now. He flinches and doubles over yet remains silent. Making any noise right now would worsen this punishment.

"You're _lying_! Someone saw you, who was it?!"

"I-I don't know!" He shrieks, shaking to the core as he leans back on his hands. "M-Master, I don't know, I'm sorry I just did what I was told. Please... please don't-"

"Don't what?!" His voice booms off the walls. He watches as Master walks to the other side of the room, until he disappears in the darkness. "I told you not to disobey, pet. I'm tired of having to hurt you like this..."

42's eyes widen as he sees the object Master is holding. Although he tries his best not to move, he can't help but scramble back in fear as his ears ring from the high pitched ping from the metal rod as it taps against the floor.

"You were my favorite. And seeing you go against me time and time again breaks my heart. I don't want to have to do this to you. But you need to learn to be good; you are my slave, you are my pet. And when you misbehave you need to be punished. You hurt me, and you deserve to be hurt, don't you?" His eyes water yet the tears will not fall as he feels Master's hands on his feet. "Answer me, slave."

"Y-yes, Master."

"Good, very good."

His eyes close as he feels the cuffs tighten and bite on his ankles. The cold metal digs into his skin; if he so much as twitches, the rough metal will slice his flesh. He knows not to move a muscle. He doesn't even try to keep his thighs together as Master spreads his tiny legs, exposing his disfigured body to the man who did this to him. The man who says he deserves it.

He _does_ deserve it.

"Open your eyes," Slowly he follows orders and bites back a scream as he sees the pole mere inches from his already abused hole. He had done enough tonight, he didn't say anything to anyone except what he was told to say. Why was he in trouble? Why did he have to go through this again?

"I-I-I..." he squeaks, voice catching as he feels Master's jagged fingers dig into his flesh before lifting his hips slightly. "I'm s-sorry, Master. I didn't say anything. I didn't talk to the pizza man I just did what I was told. I always do, I wouldn't disobey you, I love you. I love you so much, p-plea-" his mouth opens yet no noise tears from his throat as he feels the sudden impalement. He swears his insides rip and he feels blood trickle from his rectum as the metal rod that Master holds pulls out, and pushes back through. Farther. Deeper. Twisting his insides and wrecking him for what seems like the thousandth time.

It's cold and hot at the same time and he swears he tastes blood.

"You need to learn your lesson, I do this because I love you. Do you know that?" He isn't sure whether to nod or shake his head. How is this love? But what does he know about love?

He closes his eyes and sees the pizza man; he uncurls his fingers to reach for him.

He knows that face. He has seen it before. But who is he? Why... why did he say his name was Kenny? Who is Kenny? Kenny McCormick. Was that his name? He has no name. He has no face. Why would someone recognize him? Why did that pizza man look as if he had seen a ghost?

He isn't a ghost. He is nobody. No face, no name, nothing. He is nothing more than a number. Not the first, but the favorite. He is 42. He knows nothing else. No one else but his Master, his clients, his guards, and the others that have come and gone. 41 left three weeks ago according to the scratched tally marks he digs into the cement each night.

How long does he have?

"ANSWER ME, YOU SWINE!"

"Wh-wh..." he falters on his words as he feels the rod rip into him once more. "Wh-who am I?"

"You. Are. Nothing." With every word Master forces the pipe deeper into him. "You are no one. You're worthless to me, slave." He drives the metal into him one last time before ripping it out. He feels a river of blood rush from his insides and out onto his marred, broken flesh. "And you will die knowing not even I love you. I could never love you, you disgusting... thing. I'm done with you. Tomorrow you see your last client... if they'll want to buy you for half of what you're worth."

"M-Master, please..."

"Shut up." At that, a boot kicks into the side of his face. Another crack sounds in his head and his mind swims. He lets out a quiet hitch of breath and his eyes roll in the back of his head as consciousness slips from him. Before he falls away, he swears he sees the pizza man and can't help but shed a tear.


	3. March 21, 11:00 PM

_Author's Note: The original name of this was When the Whistle Blows. But then he changed it to Hush. And... I don't know which I like better. But I just have to say this is a really impressive story and I don't want any credit for this. (Except Cal doesn't write the graphic scenes. He tells me what he wants and then I write them... like towards the end of that chapter with the metal rod. I wrote that.)_

_Anywho, thanks for checking this out. It's really fast paced, I know. But the thing is... it's just... yeah. _

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><p>Butters knows this route so well he could drive it with his eyes closed. Except it seems new to him as he speeds down the road and nearly slides into another car as he fishtails into the driveway. As soon as he parks his Chevy he scrambles out and slides on ice as he runs for the sidewalk.<p>

In mere seconds he is on Kyle's front porch banging on the door desperately.

He's sure his mind isn't playing a trick on him. That person he saw tonight is Kenny. He is absolutely certain of this. He knows his best friend, no matter how many years separate them. And seeing him like that makes Butters begin to wonder what had actually happened.

Back then they were told he ran away. He left without a note, or even saying goodbye to Karen, and parted ways with his life in South Park. He left them and didn't even care to say goodbye. The rest of his friends in high school had grown bitter toward the mere thought of him; now he isn't even a memory.

Which is what makes Butters reconsider his actions right now.

What makes him think Kyle would care about Kenny after all these years?

The door opens and Butters is met with the sight of a nearly naked Kyle, who appears annoyed that he now couldn't finish whatever he was doing. Bebe runs up to the door as well; she is wearing nothing but a fleece blanket around her presumably naked body.

"Go away, Butters," she hisses with a fiery blush. Her blonde locks are tousled every which way and her collar bone is lined with hickeys and red bite marks.

"I need your help," Butters says to Kyle, who gives him a look, sighs, and moves from the door.

"I seriously can't give you any more money, dude," the redhead answers with a slight look of pity on his face. Butters just shakes his head and sits on the chair opposite of the couch in the living room. Kyle says nothing as he takes a seat across from him.

"That's not it, I swear! I just don't know what to do... I had one last delivery to make and it was on Lexington, y'know that skeevy area downtown?" Kyle nods. "And I went into the apartment and... Kyle, I think I saw Kenny McCormick."

The redhead's emerald eyes flicker as they catch Butters' gaze. Both Bebe and Kyle remain silent as they peer at the blonde before them, wondering what brought this on and if it was just wishful thinking.

"Butters..." Bebe begins uneasily, folding her arms over her chest, "Kenny's gone."

"And if you did see him of _course_ he'll be living down there."

"B-but!" Butters counters, his voice is full of desperation as he realizes he's about to lose Kyle's interest. He will be sent on his own to figure this out. Maybe there really wasn't anything to figure out. Maybe it was all in his head.

No, it couldn't be, Butters decided as he sees the doubtful look in Kyle's eyes. He knows it's Kenny, and knows he's in trouble.

"But it wasn't his house. It was some guy and he had him on a leash."

"A _leash_?" Bebe asks with wide eyes. Butters nods.

"And he's missing a finger and he's so skinny and... w-whether or not it's Kenny this person needs help. I just don't know what to do."

"You should have just gone to Cartman," Kyle replies with a bored look on his face. Butters glares. "I don't give a shit if you have beef with him. He's the cop. I'm just the law student."

"Or you could go to Craig..." Bebe offers in a softer tone. "Here, sweetie, I'm gonna call Wendy. This sounds like something up her alley." The blonde brightens at this. Wendy could actually get something done; even though she herself is a law student, like Kyle, she works at a call center for domestic violence and sexual assault. She has the resources and the means to get something done if need be. Butters just hasn't talked to her since graduation.

"Kyle, this is someone who needs our help. Even if it's Kenny... why... why don't you care?" Kyle snaps his head to look at him with a furious expression on his face.

"I do care but we can't help every victim in Denver. And if it's Kenny he-"

"He doesn't deserve to be abused, Kyle! No one does!"

"Tell that to _Karen_."

Butters remains silent and lowers his eyes. He knows he needs to drop this conversation with Kyle; Karen is a touchy subject. No one talks about her. So he sighs and pull out his phone. He stares at the number on the cracked iPhone screen and shakes his head before he pockets the phone once more.

"I can't call Cartman."

"If you want something done for the Kenny doppelganger then he's the guy. No one else really gives a shit."

"Bebe does." Kyle stands up and shakes his head before he leaves the room. Butters lets out a sigh and stares at the floor with a somber expression. Kyle has no right to be mad at him and he knows it.

This is how it's been for years; since Kenny left. No one just wants to admit it. Being friends with everyone was like beating a dead horse. And right now Butters was wondering if it's worth it.

"Butters?" Bebe says, walking into the room with a cup of tea. To his relief, she is fully dressed now. Butters takes the cup gratefully. "Just ignore Kyle, you know how he is..."

"Like something crawled up his butt and died?" Bebe laughs a little and shrugs before she sits on the arm of the chair. "We used to be so close."

"He's so busy with school, once he's accepted into law school things will be a bit easier." Butters scoffs and rests his head on her shoulder. At least they're still close. Butters doesn't want to imagine losing Bebe; after Kenny left, they became closer. And now they never go a day without talking to each other.

"Whatever," he mumbles, "what did Wendy say?"

"You're not going to like this..."

"But I _can't_ call Cartman!" Butters cries vehemently, then rests his head in his hands. "It's going to start up a bunch of shit again and-"

"Just because you dated for two years doesn't-"

"Don't even _talk_ about it!" The blonde woman sighs and squeezes his neck softly. "I... I have to call Cartman." Bebe takes his hand in hers and squeezes gently. He smiles a little and pulls out his broken phone.

As soon as the man he hasn't spoken to in eight months answers the phone he's a fumbling mess. But he tries to muddle his way through what he has to say and finally cuts through the passive-aggression. When he finally is able to say why he's calling rather than try to make up excuses, he realizes he has gotten somewhere.

"Kenny... Kenny McCormick?" Cartman says quietly over the other end. Butters hears his voice waver and he waits for him to continue speaking. "You actually think you saw him?"

"Yeah."

"Like our best friend Kenny?"

"Yes, Eric!" Butters fumes. Kyle pokes his head into the room at his outburst, then disappears in the kitchen once more. Butters smiles as he smells food cooking; good, Kyle isn't _that_ mad at him. He was also happy to hear he still isn't the only one who refers to Kenny as "best friend".

"Where was this at?"

"Some apartments on Lexington, like... gimme a sec," Butters rifles through his pocket and pulls out the written address. "2821 North Lexington." He hears Cartman type something into the computer at his desk and then clear his throat.

"And... and did Kenny or whoever this was doesn't live there, right?"

"N-no, I don't think so. There was only one name on the buzzer." How did Cartman know this?

"Do you remember that name?" Butters looks at the name on the receipt once more.

"Rodrick Moore." He hears the furious clacking of keys as Cartman types away once more.

"Butters, are you available right now?" His eyes narrow and he glances to Bebe.

"...yes?" He wasn't so sure about this. Bebe shakes her head wildly and Kyle wears a grim expression as he stands on the other side of Butters.

But Butters has a good feeling about this. He isn't excited about seeing Cartman, especially with how they left things off, but it seems as if Cartman is on to something. Maybe it really is Kenny. Maybe they were going to be able to finally find their best friend. Maybe things could finally go back to normal.

His thoughts abruptly stop at that. No, if he actually saw Kenny tonight things were far from normal. There is something going on, something wrong, and... if that is Kenny, he's too afraid to even say who he is. The past seven years he has been through something Butters isn't quite sure he can imagine, or wants to imagine, and it makes him grow nauseous to even consider how damaged Kenny is.

But he is going to help him. Cartman is too. Somehow they will figure out a way. He just has to know one thing.

"Cartman," Butters begins nervously, "do you know if that really is Kenny?"

Kyle leaves the room and Bebe covers her mouth as they all hear Cartman's reply.

"It is."

Butters leaves Kyle's without another word. He runs to his car, prays it will start right away, and flies down the street. His mind is a whirling mess of thoughts and emotions; it's enough to make him nearly physically sick but he pushes that feeling down as he nears Cartman's apartment. There were so many questions he has, so many thoughts and the fact that Cartman knows... what all does he know?

What all has he known? And why hasn't he said anything.

The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. His foot is lead on the gas pedal as he speeds down the streets. He doesn't quite care that he could get stopped; with Cartman on the police force he could probably figure a way out of a speeding ticket or citation. It doesn't matter, anyway; what matters is they found Kenny. They found Kenny after seven years and they are going to finally be able to bring him home.

And then they can find out why he left them all behind in the first place.

He finds himself staring at Cartman's apartment and afraid to make the first move. He hasn't said a word to him in eight months and suddenly they were going to buddy up and figure this out? He can't think about it; instead Kenny is what's important. For all they know he's been kidnapped and is being held hostage. Of course that couldn't be it. Honestly, Butters thinks dismally, he's probably a prostitute.

Butters doesn't have time to even knock on the door. The door opens and, much to his surprise, Craig Tucker grabs him by the shoulders and practically shoves him in the house.

"Wha-what?!" He cries in alarm; both at the sudden force and the fact that Craig is here. The raven-haired man sits down on Cartman's leather couch and opens his laptop.

"You can confirm that you saw Kenny?" Butters raises an eyebrow.

"Y...yeah? I'm pretty sure it's him." Craig clasps his hands over his mouth and closes his eyes. His hands are shaking and Butters sits in the tense silence, waiting for answers. "What's going on?"

Suddenly this seems more like a well thought out rescue mission and Butters has somehow found himself caught in the middle.

"You know I'm a private investigator," Craig begins, his eyes are still closed. The blonde nods, although Craig can't see him, and bites his lip. "I've been tracking Rodrick Moore for trafficking the past three months."

"Like drugs...?" Craig laughs sadly and looks into Butters' eyes.

"I wish," he replies, then turns the laptop. Black and white pictures of the man he saw tonight appear in a file. In a couple photos he is completely alone, in a few more he is with a man he doesn't recognize, and in three he is with a group of men and one woman.

Butters nearly throws up when Craig opens the next folder.

There are girls, women, children, boys, men... all ages, all races, in what looks like the back of a freight truck, in the back of vans, in basements, tied up, broken, tortured.

"Oh my God," Butters gasps as he sees one picture that stands out to him; Kenny. He's thin in the photo, pale yet purple and black from head to toe. In the picture he is leaning against a girl who appears a few years younger than him. Their hands are bound and their mouths are gagged. They're prisoners. "Oh my God..."

"Cartman and I have been tracking them for the past few months. We've been undercover, which is where Cartman is right now. There is a sex-trafficking ring all the way from California to New York. Their route is Interstate 80, which at the very center is Nebraska. Since we're a border state, many of the leaders and clients like to stay in Colorado. It's less obvious. We went up there last month and Kenny wasn't with them, meaning they're on to us."

"How?" Butters chokes. He isn't sure how to handle all of this information. They have been investigating one of the most rattling cases Butters had ever heard and yet he hasn't even heard of human trafficking; at least in the United States. This was happening? Everyday?

How long have they known Kenny was a part of it?

"H-how does this... how do you know they've found you out?"

"Because," Craig practically hisses. His cheeks are slightly flushed. "We're undercover. Cartman has been portraying a leader from Bulgaria, and I'm one of his..."

"Slaves?" Craig shakes his head.

"Victims."

Butters stares at the photos on the screen, then at Craig, and finally his hands. This has been going on for so long... years even, and he was just finding out now. Craig and Cartman may have found the biggest case of the century to rock the United States, and most likely the world. Once the ring is busted... the United States won't be the same.

"Can't you just tell the cops?" Craig laughs and shakes his head once more.

"That's the thing... cops are buyers. The feds are buyers, the government's buyers. They're all in on it. We've been writing a list with proven documentation of who is involved..."

"And...?" Butters presses. Craig sighs, then opens a document. A seven-paged file full of names is right before his eyes. Names of high officials he has seen on the news, names of news reporters. There is no way they could leak this information without turning the entire nation upside down.

Cartman is fresh out of college after an accelerated course, and Craig is just an apprentice under another private investigator. Together they are working on something far bigger than either of them could possibly imagine. And Butters has found his way in the middle of it.

The front door opens and Cartman looks at the blonde with wide eyes. As Butters catches his glance, a new feeling of appreciation drums in his chest, and he can't help but smile at the sight of his ex-boyfriend.

"Craig filled me in," Butters says. Cartman lets out an exasperated sigh and throws his coat on the ground. Butters is ignored as the brunette's gaze now fixes on Craig.

"We're fucking _screwed_." Craig closes the laptop and turns to face his partner with a neutral expression on his face.

"We'll figure it out."

"No, no man. They want you in tonight." Craig's jaw actually drops and Butters bites his lip. He knows by the looks on both of their faces this is a major setback. "And that's not it... I was there, I was fucking _there_. I heard him, man. He's fucking dying. They're gonna kill him tomorrow."

"What?!" Both Craig and Butters cry in outrage and horror. Butters swallows back another wave of nausea and Craig begins to pace back and forth in the small apartment. Cartman nods and pulls out his phone.

"I got a picture of him. I don't know what that fucker is doing to him, but..." Cartman turns his phone to Craig, who loses what little color he had in his face. "We've gotta finish this tomorrow. I, man... if we're doing this. If we're busting them, you've gotta go. Otherwise we're fucked." Craig looks at the picture, and Butters is able to see the plea in his eyes as he looks back to Cartman.

"And you're gonna get me out?" Cartman nods.

"Dude, I'll fucking kill 'em all. You'll be fine."

"Wait... you're sending him in tonight?!" Butters squeaks; he probably sounds as terrified as Craig feels. They both nod and Craig walks into Cartman's bedroom.

"He's 43, he has to go in."

"43?" Cartman sighs heavily.

"They don't... they're brainwashed. I don't know how. Who you saw is Kenny. But he doesn't _remember_ that. All he knows is he is 42, and his purpose is to be a human sex and torture toy."

"Wh-why?!"

"My lead follows back to Jonny Wright in South Park. He owns the strip club Kenny used to work at... remember?" Butters grimaces; he definitely remembers that. It's the reason why Butters couldn't have Kenny over at his house when they were younger. "He's the Colorado, Utah, and Nevada leader. Then there's Dave Whittacker is in the Midwest region next door. Rex Livinston is in the Eastern Region, and Otto Lombardo's Western. The trade off is usually in Nebraska, exit 420. Not too far from Lincoln or Omaha and away from all of the weigh stations. The Lincoln Airport is the International Trade Point."

"And you're sending Craig into this? What if they..."

"Craig has six years of judo, he'll kick their asses if they try anything. And he has a hidden pager to directly call Wendy if anything happens. He's going in to try and help Kenny remember. Kenny knows 43 is coming to replace him... he'll trust him."

"How... how is Kenny?" Cartman looks down at his phone, and Butters glimpses at the screen. The man he saw tonight is completely nude as he is carried, passed out, by two large men, and completely covered in blood. Butters can't help but wonder if Kenny is just ready to die. Is the thought of death his only comfort?

And then, as Cartman zooms in on the picture, Butters stops him.

"I wanted you to confirm-"

"What did they _do_ to him?" The brunette sighs as he looks at Butters, then quickly slides the zoomed in picture to his face. "Eric, what-"

"The first time I saw him, they... they wanted me to... spend the night with him, y'know." Butters tenses. "They've all done it. Newcomers get an initiation thing and... anyway, I didn't but I went up with him. I asked them why they did... that..."

"A-and?"

"He was at the perfect height and had a neutral voice, so they castrated him to stop him from further going through puberty. It's why he's so popular."

Butters stares at the broken face on the screen and tears burn his eyes. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up into Cartman's eyes.

"He'll be safe tomorrow. So will Craig, as well as the victims here. Tomorrow we're finally busting these guys." Butters nods shakily and turns when he hears footsteps from Cartman's room. Craig has a cut on his cheek, and somehow managed to handcuff and gag himself.

"Good boy," Cartman says with a sad grin. Craig glares at him and gives Butters a long look; in that expression Butters can sense his overwhelming fear.

"Let me help," Butters finally offers. Both of the other men stop their preparations and Butters clears his throat, "I... I can help. Somehow, please...?" Craig shakes his head.

"They know who you are. If you're there, it's a dead giveaway. Just go home, you've done more than you know," Cartman says, then sends him a small, genuine smile. Butters returns it uneasily, and before he can even consider his actions, hugs Craig. The raven fumbles with his movements, then simply rests in Butters' arms.

The bright blonde gives a final squeeze then looks at Cartman with a worried glimmer in his eyes. Then, too, he hugs his ex, who seems taken aback by the gesture, but accepts it no less. The brunette's eyes brighten when he finally pulls away.

"Actually, there is _something_ you can do." Butters tilts his head. He is willing to anything in order to help them. "Go into my bedroom, under my bed there's that broken floorboard, y'know...?" his cheeks tint and he gives a nod of recognition, "in there you'll find recordings, transcripts, notes, and files on every person we've been tracking. Put them in your pizza bag, and go to Stan's."

Butters stares in disbelief at Cartman, who nudges him toward his bedroom.

"And if I call you, don't answer except if I call you twice in a row with the first call ending after three rings."

"_What_?"

At that, Cartman and Craig walk outside. Butters watches them until they disappear into the unforgiving night, and then walks to Cartman's bedroom.

He follows the orders Eric gave him word by word, and pulls at the broken floorboard Butters knows all too well. He reaches inside and feels a thick pile of documents, then pulls them out in bunches at a time. He stares in awe at all of the files, and shakes his head.

What has he gotten himself into? This was almost a deathwish.

But it was worth it and he knows it. Because all of this information will help to save Kenny and out more people than he wanted to comprehend. He will be able to help save the lives of so many people abducted.

Cartman and Craig are the whistleblowers.

And as Butters stuffs the documents and recordings into his pizza bag, he realizes he will be the one to either make them heard, or hush them.

At that, he zips his bag and hops in the driver's seat. Starting his car once more, he types in a number and presses his phone to his ear.

"Hey, Stan, it's Butters. I really need your help..."


	4. March 22, 12:03 AM

Kenny woke up as his head slammed against something hard; by the ache in his temple and the tightness in his jaw he just knew it was metal.

The taste of salt and cheap alcohol bit sharp on his tongue. The drink was laced with something powerful; he wasn't quite sure if it was a date rape drug but the effect had been the same. He rubbed at his eyes and tried his best to look around at his surroundings. He was moving; he had to be in the trailer of an eighteen wheeler. There was room enough for him to wiggle around, and he could see lights from outside flicker through the holes along the metal confines.

So he had been drugged and abducted.

Kenny was groggy; he felt as if he had taken a heavy sedative and had woken up early. Moving his arms and legs seemed impossible and it took much too long for his eyes to focus. But as he came to, he realized another pair of eyes gazed down at him. No matter how kind they appeared, he tried his best to jump back and fight. Except, paired with the lethargy, his limbs were bound.

He was in the back of a cattle car with someone who was probably going to kill him. Or worse. This wasn't what he had agreed to with Jonny; and unfortunately his naivety got the best of him once again. His eagerness for a few extra dollars unsettling to him right now; but if he had known this was his fate he would have run for the hills and never looked back.

But right now he was furious and terrified; that left him in a panic as he tried to fight against the ties. The eyes still watched him and a young face began to appear from the darkness; he couldn't scream. He was gagged. Kenny let out a growl of frustration and watched with heavy eyes as the person raised their hand. He closed his eyes and flinched, ready for whatever kind of pain they could dish.

Except he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He flailed as best he could to get them to stop touching him, and then fingers squeezed him gently.

"It's okay," he heard a small voice belonging to a young girl who reminded him too much of Karen for his own good. "Don't fight. Master will be angry with me." Tiny fingers worked to untie the gag. As soon as his mouth was free, he took a deep breath.

"HE-" his scream was cut off by her hand covering his mouth. Tears glittered in her eyes, and he silenced at her desperation.

"P-please... Master will hurt me if you scream. I-I can't... I hurt so bad..." This was just a little girl. Her voice was thick with a Russian accent, and her body was frail and malnourished from what he could see.

"Who..." he trailed off in a whisper. "Who's your... master?" The words felt vile as they rolled off his tongue. Although she looked pained, a smile broke on her face.

"He's my guardian angel. He saved my life."

Kenny's eyes lowered and he swore his heart shattered as he heard the words. Karen. She was just as old as Karen; this could have easily been her here instead of him. And yet here is this little girl who has been subjected to mind control and complete torture that her entire being is warped. Bent around the finger of the so called "master".

"He saved you too," she said quietly, taking his hand. "And I'm so thankful I have a friend. I can teach you everything... I can show you..." she lowered herself on to him and straddled his lap. Kenny shook his head and tried to pull away. When she noticed his aversion, she bit her lip and her shoulders began to shake.

"Don't cry..." he whispered, then squeezed her hand, "I'm going to help you. What... what's your name?"

"41," she replied, "we're going to be siblings, you and I. Master's going to take good care of us. We've got a home, and if we do good then we won't get hurt."

"What do you... what do you do?"

"Whatever they want me to."

Kenny closed his eyes as they began to sting.

"And so will you... I don't want to lose you. I love you, I love you already." His lip trembled as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I love you too." He whispered, and raised his head as a tear rolled down his cheek. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the image of Karen as this girl, known to him only as 41, curled into his side and fell asleep.

42 looks up from his curled position on the ground. The guards took his blanket; now he's trying to hug himself to keep warm. Only his skin is cold, and he shakes involuntarily with every beat of his heart. The bleeding hasn't stopped, and he finds it difficult to focus on anything now. But his last day is tomorrow; one more day and he is finally able to join 41. One more day and it won't hurt to walk anymore. It won't hurt to breathe.

He jumps as he hears a body crash down the stairs. A loud yelp sounds from the newcomer and he tries to lift himself to investigate. He has been waiting for 43 for awhile now; the guards and his master have been talking to him. He has to teach him, has to make him comfortable. He has to show him that this is a good thing. Because Master saved them both and now the are eternally grateful. Forever they belong to him, and their bodies are not theirs. They are his. They will do whatever they are told because if Master didn't save them then they would be dead.

43 groans on the floor and 42 shakily lifts himself up. He whimpers as his something inside stabs against his stomach, or his back, and he tries not to scream. Too much noise will make him hurt. Too much movement will make it worse. And Master will be even angrier. He has to do this right to get on Master's good graces so he can have a quick death.

He knows the horror of 40. 41 told him all about it. No one wants to die like 40.

"Hi."

42 tastes the blood in his throat and knows his stomach is swollen due to the internal bleeding. He can taste it, as well as the acid as he fights of nausea once more. 43 lifts his head and looks at him.

"H..." his voice stops and catches, and 42 tilts his head. Why is he scared? He shouldn't be scared.

"You're a pretty one." 43 looks at him with a lost expression, and struggles to stand. He is bleeding from his head, and he holds his side. "I can help you."

"H...how?" 43 asks. He smiles at the taller man, and then grimaces.

"You're old."

"So are you." 42's eyes lower as he nods. "You're as old as I am. I'm twenty-two." 42 takes a step back and falters. Instantly arms are around him and he covers his mouth as he lets out a pained cry. "What... what's wrong... you're bleeding."

"I was wrong," he answers, "I was bad. I didn't do my job right and you're... you're not supposed to see this. Master punished me, and he-he'll do this to you if you don't..." he trails off and reaches for the railing. He holds himself steady and gasps for breath; it's so hard to breathe.

"Who's Master?"

"He..." 42 trails off, then looks up at the ceiling. He can't see it but he hears footsteps above. "He's my guardian angel."

"But he _hurt_ you."

"Didn't your old Master?" 42 asks curiously. 43 stiffens, then nods. "It's our lesson. We need to be good. We're nothing, you and I. Not until we're saved. We... they give us a purpose. A reason to live, and sometimes it hurts, and sometimes they do things that hurt... but it's our fault. I've been good for so long, I used to fight. I don't know why. They took a knuckle for every time I tried to run... who would run from the one who saved them?"

43 stares at him with a sick look on his face. He wraps an arm around himself, then holds out his left hand.

"I lost a finger, and the top knuckle of another one. I learned my lesson. I'll never run again. There's no point..."

"Why not?"

"I get to sleep tomorrow."

43 sits down on the stairs and buries his head in his hands. 42 wants to sit next to him, but bending down even slightly is too painful. But he has to, to be a good teacher. He has to show him to be strong. So he sits, and barely has time to turn his head before he vomits again. It tastes like blood now. A hand brushes his back and he flinches, then tells himself it's okay. It has to be okay; he does whatever the new one wants.

"You're bleeding internally, you need medical help." He shakes his head and tries to smile; he doesn't remember how. Has he ever smiled. His lips tremble and he gives up, then wipes his mouth.

"It'll stop tomorrow, it's okay." His voice is small but calm and almost eager for the end. 43 stares at him with a lost expression.

Then he realizes what he's doing. He's teaching him wrong; this is the last thing he can do to please Master and he has already managed to fail. 43 couldn't be like him; he can't try to run away. He will end up hurt, and considering his age he was probably already too far gone. The older ones never last long. No one wants them. They're used.. rough... loose.

He knows he shouldn't be telling 43 these things. He should tell him how good Master is for taking them in. How their job is to please him and the others he sells them to. Making his buyers happy makes Master happy. And that is the point of their existence.

Master will be able to love 43 far more than him, as long as he advises him the right way.

"Master loves us, he doesn't want to punish me but he has to. I need to learn. We're his family, and he helped us when no one else would. You know that... your sire did the same for you." He notices the scowl on 43's face and bites his lip. He doesn't seem very grateful.

"What makes you say that?" 43 asks, his black hair looks soft and unmatted. Combed even. He smells clean too. 42 looks down at himself, sees his bruises and blood and body fluids that aren't his dried on his skin. He's filthy. He's wrong. He shouldn't be the one teaching 43. It's obvious to him that he is impeccable at obeying orders. "Do you remember your life before your... before Master?" the noirette seems to struggle on the title. This wouldn't fare for him here.

42's eyes widen as he gazes at the one taking over for him. No one talks about that. It's too painful for them to remember, Master says, and he helps them forget. Perhaps 43 hadn't gone through the same treatment. Maybe he remembers everything; he shudders at that.

"I was abandoned," he recites, "Master took me in when he found me. He loves me and that's all I need to know."

43 sticks his hand in his pocket. A slave hasn't worn pants in such a long time; this one is odd. He doesn't seem right. He knows too much, seems much more defiant than even he is. He's suddenly wary of his companion but says nothing.

Unless he has pants because he's so good. That means if he is... then he should be learning from him. Or the very least he could do is offer himself.

"Do you know your... do you know anything your Master? Like his name?"

42 shakes his head.

"I'm undeserving of that information." 43 looks up; from the dim light he can see his face is wet and his eyes are red. Oh no.

"D-don't... don't do that. Don't, oh please... please stop. You can't cry. Please..." 42 wipes his face and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. What can I do? Don't cry."

"No, I'm not..." 43 trails off, "do you know your name?"

"42," he replies as he shakily pulls himself from the stairs. He winces and clutches his stomach; he feels heavy.

"I mean your name before... mine's Craig."

He knows this name. Why does this sound familiar? The more he looks at Craig, no 43, the more he realizes he knows this face. Why doesn't he have a name... did he have a name? The pizza man called him Kenny tonight. Kenny McCormick. Was that his name? No, he can't think that. He is nothing. 42.

"Can I make you f-feel better?"

"I could say the same to you," 42 shakes his head. His mind swims and he covers his mouth as he fights off another wave of nausea. He's tired.

"No, you're not here for me. I'm here to teach you Master's ways."

Craig leans forward and puts his hand in front of 42, before holding his shoulder. He tenses, however, when 42 reaches for his pants.

"No, d-don't do that." 42 yanks his hands away and stares in horror at Craig. He can't deny this, that's the most important rule. No one is able to say no.

But suddenly he wants to be like 43- Craig. He seems sure of himself, he's confident. He hasn't been broken and suddenly 42 realizes he won't be. They cannot harm his soul. But he was weak, he had let go too easily.

Craig knows who he is... after what he has been through, he still holds on to himself. So who is e? Why is he lost?

"I just want to talk to you, we can be friends." Craig's voice is calming. 42 glances up from the floor and catches his look. He's smiling. He has the whitest teeth; his smile is beautiful. He's beautiful.

That's the reason he is being replaced. He's no longer desirable. Broken, beaten, used up, spent and ready for the hangman. Craig, 43, is absolutely beautiful and looking at him brings tears to his eyes. He wonders if he ever looked as he does. Maybe once he had been beautiful too.

He wants to smile too.

"What's Master like?"

"Very loving. He cares so much about us... about me. I've just hurt him too many times."

"Is he the one who made you bleed tonight? How did he do it?" He tenses at this question and lowers his eyes.

"I spoke to someone. I asked who I was. The pizza man... he thought I was someone. But I'm no one."

"Who did he think you were?" Craig asks. A sob escapes him and he shakes his head wildly.

"Nobody..." he whimpers, "I'm Nobody, Master says. I-I'm an animal. I'm wrong... and I talked to the... the pizza man. And Rodrick even let me have his pizza crust... I was good. I did good... and Master said I was wrong. He... punished me with t-that... pole..."

Craig looks ashen as he glances to the metal rod that lay in the center of the room. He was raped with a pole because he spoke to Butters. He shakes his head, and turns to his companion.

"What did he do to you?"

"He..." he trails off, shaking his head. He deserved it. He didn't say no. He needed it to be good. He has to be good. "He made love to me."

"With a metal pole?" He nods. "That's not love, that's rape..."

Rape.

He is bleeding internally and broken from the inside out. He is a ruin.

"He raped me..." he whispers and falls apart. For the first time that he remembers, he bursts into tears. They flood down his cheeks, hot like acid. Nearly enough to burn his flesh.

And he feels Craig's arms wrap around him and hold him close. Not enough to hurt, but enough to let him feel something. This was a hug. And he feels Craig shaking in his arms and he doesn't know what to do. This was his first hug since... he doesn't remember.

He doesn't remember his last hug. And that hurts even more.

He holds tighter to him and hides his face in his chest.

"Why did he do it?"

"I asked him who I was..." he sobs. He clutches to his shirt, tries to feel this contact. This was love. This wasn't like Master's touch. This was warm and loving. He felt safe. He wants that feeling. And now that he feels that connection, he knows that he can die happy tomorrow. Even if he disobeys

"Who do you think you are...?" 42 sniffles and lifts his weary head from Craig's chest. He feels the man squeeze his hand, and he sobs.

"Forgotten..."


	5. March 21, 11:54 PM

"So what are you trying to tell me?"

Butters stares across at Stan Marsh as they sit at his dining room table. His apartment is similar to Butters; neither of them make much money, but at least Stan can afford to pay all of his bills. He appears tired as he swirls a cup of black coffee across from him, and rests his head on his hand.

"Kenny didn't run away, he was kidnapped. And Cartman has years of proof."

Stan raises an eyebrow, which makes Butters retrieve the files from his pizza delivery bag.

"Kenny's a part of a human trafficking ring. I haven't been able to read any of it, but Cartman and Craig-"

"Cartman lost his badge two months after joining the force." Butters sighs heavily, "and Craig... Craig... he's _Craig_, man!" Butters slides the top file to Stan, who sighs heavily and opens the manila folder.

His eyes scan the documents and examine the pictures. With every moment that passes, the color drains from his face and a worry line etches deeper into his forehead.

"Is this real?"

"I saw him tonight..."

"You saw Kenny?" Butters nods and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Stan rakes a hand through his hair and sighs shakily before he opens his laptop. "How... after seven years... everything we thought..."

"Was wrong," Stan shakes his head and buries his head in his hands. He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose as he stares at the document before him. "And Kenny, and all these other people who are involved, need our help."

"They don't realize what they've gotten themselves into. This is way bigger than they know."

"You know about this?" Stan waves his hand in a haphazard manner and grimaces.

"I'm an advocacy journalist, I know that there is an entire underground of human trafficking going on and they've dug themselves into a deeper hole. If they think they can just swoop in and save Kenny, they're dead wrong."

"W-what do you mean?"

"They're objects for _life_, they-"

"They're people, Stan!" Butters interrupts with a horrified look on his face.

"Not to the pigs. Not to the people that buy them and do the sick things they do. It's not just sex, either. Companies will buy people to do their work for no cost. Parents sell their children, rent their children... it's not just drug lords and mob men. It's the people down the street and the big business assholes on Wall Street." Butters' eye twitches as he stares at Stan. "And if they bust them, they're dead. To them, these prisoners are their objects, their sale items... they're stolen. Cartman and Craig would be _stealing_ Kenny, and they'd get him back and kill them for it."

The blonde's hands are shaking as he listens to Stan. As he stares at the files he realizes his dear friend is completely right. If Cartman and Craig haven't thought this far through then they would have a huge problem. And what would the repercussions be when this information is leaked? Would they even be taken seriously?

He just has to hope that everything will turn out okay. That their work is not in vain and that he can help them with whatever they need. That they can save Kenny and finally bring him home.

Butters knows he's in shock; his mind hasn't had time to realize his best friend who they had all been told had run away was really abducted. Kenny is a sex slave and has been for sale for seven years now; his mind is lost at fifteen. On top of all this his ex-boyfriend and close acquaintances have been working on the biggest cover-up their generation will ever see.

And there is an effect to their actions. If they save Kenny and release the information, then they are all put at large. Even he would be; and he's just the poor sap who delivered the damn pizza.

"So you don't think it's... worth it?" Stan sighs and glances up from his laptop. His fingers hover over the keys before he finally types something.

"I didn't say that," he mumbles, his eyes are set on the picture of Kenny. "I just hope they know what they got themselves into."

Butters can say the same for himself. But deep down he knows that bringing these papers and being available to help them will be for the best. Because Kenny needs their help, all of these people need their voices finally heard. Perhaps with a former cop, a private investigator, a journalist, and a pizza delivery guy they could manage to do just that, and so much more. It was empowering to have all of this information and proof; they are right. There is no way that those involved would get away with this.

"Butters, they have a list of the people these guys have... Jonny Bledel... that was Kenny's manager at the strip club. He's the one who sold Kenny according to and two other girls were sold to this guy on the same night. The girls went to... Jesus, how do they have all of this?"

"What?" Stan shakes his head and types something on his laptop. He then looks up and sighs.

"These girls were sold to arranged marriages. Their parents sold them off."

Butters' stomach churns; their parents. This runs thick with blood now; parents were selling their children.

"It says the older someone is and the more damaged they are the less money they'll make. Most don't live to be twenty-three..."

Butters stiffens; Kenny's twenty-two and is going to die tomorrow if Craig and Cartman can't stop it.

Stan grabs his phone and calls someone. He tilts his head at the raven, who rifles through the papers.

"Kyle?" Butters swears his heart stops. "Listen, there's something going on and I really need you to get down here." A moment's pause and Stan glances at Butters. "Yeah, it's about Kenny. Kyle I'm looking at the papers, it's him. He was sold into the human trafficking ring-" he hears Kyle's sharp voice, "yes, Kyle! I'm looking at a fucking picture of Kenny McCormick that Cartman must have- I know he was kicked off the force but it's Kenny! It's... it's Kenny and he's needed our help for the past seven years and we didn't even know..."

Butters' eyes sting as he hears the words. Seven years have gone by. A few hours, no a split second, has changed everything, and now they are all left to question. Most of all, Butters can't help but feel guilty for thinking Kenny abandoned them all. But how were they supposed to know?

"Kyle is coming over. He... you know how hard Kenny's disappearance was for him, he-"

"For Kyle?!" Butters barks, "Stan, Kenny is my best friend! I have blamed myself every day the past seven years because I could have been a better friend and helped him! And you know what? That's still true! I could have never lost faith in him. Kenny didn't abandon us, _we_ abandoned _him_!"

Stan's lip quivers and he looks as if he ready to say something. At the last minute he sighs and lowers his head.

"You're right," Butters feels the tension leave his body, "you're right dude..." he trails off, then thumbs through the papers again. "Oksana Borsnova... she was, Christ, she was ten when she was taken. If that's... that's her and Kenny in that picture. That's her..." Stan trails off, "she was twelve."

"What happened to her?" Butters asks as he sits next to Stan and skims the page.

"She died. Her body was found a month ago on the side of the road outside of Baja, California."

"She was only nineteen..." Butters trails off, shaking his head in disgust. "She spent most of her life as a slave..." Stan just stares at the paper and covers his mouth with his hand.

"Butters?" Stan asks; his voice is soft. He's scared to speak, and Butters has a feeling he knows what he's going to say. "We need to tell her."

"I..." he trails off.

Karen McCormick is the second most difficult name to say. Butters knows she deserves to know, as well as their parents, but this is the last thing she needs to hear. Besides, right now telling her in person was physically impossible, and the phone calls are monitored.

But Karen does need to know. She needs to know her brother is alive and didn't leave her. She deserves to know the truth and to finally be able to have some sense of closure. She hasn't been able to move on, and perhaps knowing he was alive would be exactly what she needs.

"Not right now. It's too soon. We can't give her false hope..." they catch glances, and Stan nods.

"When we have Kenny?"

"Yeah."

They are left in silence as Stan resumes his typing. Butters stares at his hands and wonders how everything always turns out this way. Everything was normal, everything is always normal, until one moment flips everything upside down. Now here they are picking up the pieces as they figure out just what happened to dismantle their teenage years. Everything they believed to be true was a lie, and now they are all facing one of the biggest underground industries in the United States and the world.

This is the stuff of movies. This doesn't happen in real life. But he shakes his head as he realizes that yes, it does. Every day countless children and adults are taken, sold, bought, tortured, abused, killed. But no one thinks to consider it, or even the importance, until it hits home. Well it came swinging and hit hard, Butters realizes with a deep grimace and an aching heart.

The front door opens and Kyle enters with a worry line etched into his forehead. Without saying hello, he grabs the stack of files and reads each and every word. His eyes appear haunted as he stares at the photos, and finally he exhales.

"You were serious," Kyle says to Butters. The blonde nods and folds his arms across his chest. "This... that's Kenny."

"His name is _right_ there, Ky," Stan trails off, "somehow they even managed to get copies of the names and prices. I just don't get what the number is by the name. They all have them... Kenny's is 42." Kyle's hands shake as he continues reading. He is completely absorbed in the facts, the proof, and the sinking feeling of realization. In seven years they have all graduated, gone to college, and moved on with their lives. In seven years Kenny has been sold and moved throughout the country, maybe even the world, stuck in the mindset of a fifteen year old boy. Or worse.

"So... what are we going to do?"

"Craig is... Craig's with him right now. He's undercover as another..."

"Slave?" Kyle asks with distaste. Butters nods. "Does he realize he could get caught and stuck there?" Butters nods once more, "and that's the plan?"

"He's wearing a bug. It's being transmitted and recorded to Cartman's computer."

"So... if Cartman comes here... we can..."

"Hear Kenny, yeah. He's supposed to be on the way." Kyle nods slowly and glances to Stan, who is still typing.

"And you're writing the report?" Stan gives a nod and scrubs a hand through his hair. "This isn't just some fucked up dream?" Butters grimace deepens, and he sighs heavily.

"No, it's not."

"Kenny... he didn't run. He was taken..." Kyle trails off. His voice shakes and his eyes are glittering, "and he's been through... through so much. And I thought..."

"We all did," Stan murmurs, "we all thought he left us. Is there anything you can do to help with this? I just... I don't know who I'll give this to." Kyle sits down with Butters and pats his shoulder, then tries to smile at Stan.

"I got it," he assures, "are we sure Craig is safe?" Butters is silent; he doesn't nod or shake his head. Craig had looked absolutely terrified but his safety isn't his first concern. And it's not Cartman's either.

"I'm sure they have a plan," yet as Butters says this he isn't so sure. In the past there hasn't necessarily been a plan; so what would make them have one now? A part of him can't help but wonder if there is a plotted course of action. After all they have been digging for months; why wouldn't they be planning as well?

Kyle, Stan, and Butters begin piecing the information together in an outline for Stan to write. As each second passes they burrow deeper and deeper into this hole that they aren't quite sure they will make it out of. This is the biggest moment of their entire lives, it's almost as if the pieces had been laid out for them to pick up. As vile and gut-wrenching as some of the details are they can't tear their eyes away from the readings and photos.

Because this is Kenny's life over the past seven years, right before their very eyes. And if they look away they won't have the answers to their questions.

A banging on the door breaks them from compiling the information. Stan closes his laptop and Kyle quickly shoves the files back into Butters' pizza bag. Cartman comes running in with his laptop open and a small program running on the front.

"Good, you're all here," Cartman says, then sets the laptop down on the table. "We've got shit to do and I can't do it alone."

"Is that...?" Butters can't quite finish his sentence. The brunette nods and turns the volume up.

"I've been listening the whole way."

_"That's not love, that's rape..."_ they silence as they hear Craig's voice, and a quiet sniffle on the recording. This is the first sound they have heard from Kenny McCormick in seven years.

"Do you have a plan? Craig could get killed if they find that on him, Cartman!" Kyle is waved off by Cartman.

"It's in his pocket... if anything they'll take off his clothes before they mess with him, it's not like-"

"Jesus Christ!" Stan shouts in horror at his friend's words, "that's... _dude_!"

"Well, it could happen! Craig knows how to fight 'em off, besides I said he can't be touched 'til I sell him and that's never gonna happen." Three pairs of eyes stare in horror at him. "It's part of the plan."

"Then how does your plan end...?" Cartman sighs heavily, the raises his eyes.

"That's the problem," he mumbles, "I need $20,000."

"W-what?!" Butters cries, "what for?!" Cartman rolls his eyes and points at his screen.

_"H...he raped me,"_ they hear Kenny's whimper. The first words they've heard from him in so long. He sounds broken. Dead. Kyle shakes his head at Cartman and stands up.

"No, no, no, no!" He cries, then tears at his poofy curls, "you cannot do what I think you're going to do. God dammit Cartman!"

"What...?" Stan asks, Kyle whips around and points at their oldest friend.

"That fucker is going to _buy_ Kenny... and he wants my money." Butters' eyes narrow and he turns to Cartman.

"It's the only way this can be done!" He yells, "you think we can just go in and sweep him away? No! We have to buy him, and then we'll bust them, get the money back and save those people." Stan shakes his head and closes his laptop.

"But you realize you're gonna be just like them? Kenny's going to hate you... maybe all of us." Cartman sighs and slumps his shoulders forward.

"I think I'd rather have him out of there and hating us than having him _die_ in twelve hours."

The three of them grow silent. He's right. Kyle groans softly in frustration and pulls out his wallet.

"I'm transferring the money to you. I get it back and I'm donating it. I'm not touching this again," he hisses, then grabs Stan's laptop.

Butters eyes Cartman, who appears defeated. He then realizes this is the only option they have. But it's all a matter of trust; Cartman is Cartman. He may be working for the law, but if he owns Kenny... he shakes his head. Cartman wasn't that kind of a person. He wouldn't possibly keep Kenny. They just have to trust him, and he wasn't quite sure how to do that.


	6. March 22, 12:11 AM

"You are such a pretty boy," he heard the man say as he entered the basement. He was alone; 41 had been gone for a week. He never met the others; they were married off.

"Fuck off," Kenny spat and sat up from his laying position. "I'm not a fucking play thing. I didn't agree to this, and I _will_ get out of here." The man laughed hollowly and stepped closer to him. A chill ran down his spine as he caught his wicked grin.

"I'm not trying to hurt you. I made your life better, I saved you. I love you and I want you happy. What do you need?" He heard the gentle tone in his voice; he knew what that meant. He was going to bleed.

"To get the fuck outta here and have your ass thrown in jail, you fucking freak." He shoved the man's hand away as he reached to stroke his cheek. His hand was caught in a violent grip, however, and before he had time to react, he was thrown back against the cement floor. He yelped in pain as he landed on his shoulder.

"Oh, pretty boy, you're never get out of here. Not until you die." Kenny scoffed, despite his sudden fear, and maintained a smirk on his face. "Doctor." Doctor? Kenny's heart sank in his stomach. What was going to happen?

He quickly attempted to scramble away as two men appeared by his side; the shackles around his wrists and ankles kept him from moving more than two feet. He let out a scream of frustration as they grabbed him by the shoulders; one man pinned him down by his shoulders, the other knelt beside him. He gnashed his teeth at them at a final attempt at intimidation. His eyes watched as the man next to him reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe.

"N-no," he whimpered, trying one more time to break free from his hold. He was useless; a month ago he would have been able to fight them off and run from here. He would have been free. Yet starvation and fatigue had made him weak; that's exactly how they wanted him.

"Don't touch me!' He felt the needle prick his flesh and fought back tears as the injection flooded his veins.

"You'll be asleep soon, my love. You won't feel a thing." He breathed heavily and glared with fiery eyes as he heard the man speak. He was already beginning to feel woozy. His vision kept fading in and out of focus as his eyes grew heavier by the second.

"So what is the extent of this procedure?" The so-called doctor asked.

Kenny whimpered as hands pulled down his underwear; it was the only article of clothing he was allowed to wear.

"I want him to stay like this; he'll be useful for several more years..."

"If I castrate him there will be minimal testosterone production in his body. If anything he will grow to be more androgynous. He still has a couple years of puberty left, so if he is castrated it will ultimately stop the process."

Kenny's eyes widened and he tried to kick the doctor away from him. His legs are like jelly and barely lift from the ground. He was on the brink of falling asleep; he had to get away. He couldn't let them do this to him.

"That's exactly what I want."

Kenny shook his head and looked up at the man above him.

"Don't y-you d-" the guard who injected him pried open his mouth and shoved a gag inside. His scream was muffled and his eyes stung with tears of desperation.

"You need to learn, pet. Speak when you are spoken to. You keep fighting; this is your first punishment."

Kenny's eyes rolled in the back of his head and he lets out a quiet whimper of submission.

"Good boy," the gag was pulled from his mouth; he took in a shuddering breath and froze as his eyes locked with the man. "Do you understand me?" he gave a weak nod. "Do you understand? Speak."

"Yes," he whimpered, then closed his eyes in miserable defeat. He grunted as he felt a sharp kick to his side.

"Yes- who?"

The tears finally leaked from his eyes and rolled.

Before he gives into the tugging need for sleep, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Yes, M-Master."

42 lays on his stomach with Craig's shirt covering him. He hasn't worn a shirt in so long; he can't remember the last time. It's warm and soft; he can't stop touching the fabric.

"What else has Master done to you?" He bites his lip at the question. It isn't what Master did to him, but what he does wrong.

"What I deserve, I'm so bad. He forgives me, he..." he trails off in a quiet whimper. He knows Craig's eyes are disbelieving. Is he wrong? "He took my pinky and another knuckle for running away three times. He... he burned me. S-see?" Hesitantly, he turns onto his side.

He whimpers as he moves and swears the blood leaking into his stomach sloshes with his movements. He pulls down his underwear slightly, and rests his cheek against the floor. Submission. He is beneath Craig. This is Craig's chance to finally do what he's supposed to do.

Craig's eyes focus on a dark scar on his left buttock; the number 42. He's branded.

"T-to know my place," he whimpers, "I'm... I'm not human, I'm not better than..."

"Yes, you are. You are human. You have no right to be burned and disfigured. You deserve to be free, you don't deserve to hurt anymore." He shakes his head. He doesn't agree with this at all. Craig doesn't understand this was discipline; it isn't cruel. It's done because he is bad; and as much as he admires Craig, he knows his going to be more trouble than him.

"You need to learn your place," he murmurs, looking up at Craig. His stomach feels heavy; he's so afraid to move. He's afraid he'll burst.

"Did you learn yours?"

Craig sees his eyes glimmer with tears as he gives a hesitant nod. He is silent as 42 pulls down his underwear. Crag feels highly uncomfortable but knows not to say anything; aversion to nudity is a dead giveaway. He can't risk it.

Acid burns his throat as he stares in terrified awe at 42's most private area, violated by far too many.

"They..." he can't finish his sentence. "They castrated you!" He gasps in horror. 42 nods weakly as he pulls his underwear back up on his hips.

Craig looks at 42 with sadness in his eyes. His mind reels on what he has just seen. He is stripped of manhood, adulthood, and has been treated with even less care than cattle. He's stuck, forever fifteen in all ways but age.

His life is static while everyone else has moved here he is bleeding from the inside out, and there is nothing Craig can do about it. It's too early to tell Cartman to call it. They need more time, more evidence from him. But as he gazes at the blonde, he knows too much time has passed.

Seven years is much too long. He will never be the same; despite their efforts Craig worries that this won't be what he wants. Because how will he adapt? He has been shut off from the world, except filthy men and women who use him for everything he has. All he knows is being sold. What is going to stop him from going on the streets?

Perhaps nothing; but it will be his choice. If that's what happens to him, then their work won't be in vain. Working on the streets will be his decision, and at the end of the night he'll go home. He'll be free. And he deserves that, and so much more. He deserves to truly live instead of being caged up and treated like a rabid animal. And they will get him there, Craig knows this. He just has to hang on for a little longer. Give him what he needs...

Live through the night.

"K-" Craig stops himself. "42?" Haunted blue eyes look up at him with an almost scary alertness. Something snaps in his head at the label. "You're beautiful."

42 lowers his gaze as his eyes burn. He's so tired of crying; he's just so tired...

"N-no, no... I'm not. I'm not... capable of that. I'm filthy. I..." he pulls at his hair. It's long; blood, sweat, and body fluids clump the locks in thick knots and mats. His skin has blood stains and flecks of dirt caked over bruises that litter him from head to toe. Scabs and scars mar his flesh. He is broken, putrid, used. There is no beauty in his face or in his body. He hasn't been beautiful since they...

Craig sees the effect the words have on him. He curls in on himself and bows his head even more. his eyes are lost and dull as he gazes at Craig; he realizes he's waiting to be beaten, to take it like a good boy.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to know more about you."

"S-stop..." the words frighten 42 and he quickly places his hands over his mouth. He shakes his head and his eyes are wide with horror as he looks at his raven-haired companion. He begins to tremble, and Craig reaches for him. His eyes plead "no" but he doesn't move a muscle. Craig retracts; he sees him visibly relax. "D-d-d-don't tell Master, please? Please? I'm sorry, I don't... I can't... I'll do anything. I don't want to be hurt anymore, Craig..." his voice cracks and his shoulders wrack violently as he sobs. His hand covers his mouth as he muffles his cries; his master can't hear him cry.

"I won't tell anyone," tell them what? He said stop?

He isn't allowed to tell anyone no. Not even the other slaves.

"Are you... can you not say no to me?" Craig asks, "I'm your equal. I'm just like you," the lie tastes bitter on his tongue; he could never be as valiant as him. "Why can't you say no to me?"

"Be-because, I'm not your equal. I'm old... I... you're replacing me. I'm supposed to make you feel good before I die tomorrow. I just want to die, Craig... I just want to die..."

"I'm older than you, so I should probably be the one making you feel good." 42 lifts his head slowly and his eyes narrow on Craig.

"H-how do you...?" he crawls closer, "how do you know that?" Craig scoots closer to him and smiles as Kenny rests his head on his thigh. He shudders against him and carefully puts an arm around his leg. Now they were getting somewhere.

"You were born March 22, do you know what today is?" 42 glances to the floor where he has etched the days since 41 left. It's been over a month. She left on Valentine's Day; he knows this because she saw the calendar when she went up the stairs. It was the last thing she said to him, "Happy Valetine's Day. I love you."

His eyes heat again and he closes his eyes.

"Today's March 21." 42's eyes open and he glances up to see Craig smiling.

"T-tomorrow's my birthday?" His lips twitch downward. He's dying on his birthday; that seems fitting. "How do you know this? You don't know me."

"Do you know what your name is?" Craig asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. He likes the warmth. It's not the same as the warmth from his sires. This is genuine. Craig really cares about him; there is no desire in his touches, only comfort.

"Forty-t-" Craig shakes his head.

"Your _real_ name. You had a life before this, you were taken-" he shakes his head, "I knew you. And I've been looking for you for seven years."

"The pizza man..." he trails off, then grips tight to Craig's pants. They're denim. "D-d'you know who he is?!" Tears are streaming down his face now and he's no longer whispering. His voice is near shouting; Craig glances up and hopes no one will hear him.

"Shhh..." he whispers. He can't get caught. They're so close. But 42 shakes his head and pulls himself away from Craig.

"Who am I?!" He screams, "who are you? Who _am_ I, Craig?!" His voice cracks. Footsteps sound like thunder from upstairs.

"Shit," he whispers, then quickly undoes his pants. He can't be caught with them. They'll take them away; they'll find him out. He quickly throws them behnid the stairway.

"P-please... I'm someone, aren't I? I _am_ somebody."

Feet pound down the stairs and Craig covers his mouth as he tries not to voice his gut-wrenching sobs.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." he whispers as the guards come downstairs. They kick at Craig, who quickly curls up, then one of the guards pulls out a syringe. He approaches 42, who kicks and screams despite the pain shooting through his body.

"No, no NO! I said NO! Get AWAY from me!" His voice is blood-curdling; sharp on the walls. Craig's breath hitches as tears drop from his eyes. The look on his face as they stab the needle into his arm. "_DON'T TOUCH ME_!"

"Master wants you one last time, you fuckin' cunt. Now shutcher fuckin' mouth." One of the men says, the other looks at Craig.

"You're next," he laughs hollowly and his eyes lock on 42's fiery gaze. He sees Kenny staring back at him.

"WHO AM I?!" He screams at him as they carry him up the stairs. His legs thump numbly against the stairs, "_CRAIG, WHO AM I?! PLEASE?!_"

Craig waits until the door slams shut up the stairs. He lifts himself up with a slight struggle, and clutches his side as he hides beneath the stairs.

"Cartman..." he whispers, as tears roll down his cheeks, "we have a problem."


	7. March 6, 2:08 AM

The car door slammed shut; Eric Cartman locked eyes with the driver for a brief moment before he turned and took a deep breath. This was going to be the first time he saw Kenny in seven years; if it _was_ him. This moment was the one that would make or break him. Everything he worked hard for the past few months could turn out to be for nothing.

That is if it _wasn't_ Kenny. If it was? Then all of his proof, all of his documents and breaking into classified files, wasn't in vain. He would then be able to go to someone else with the information, someone who knew the proper way to handle that. All of the signs had pointed him to Craig Tucker for that. Why? Because Craig had resources. He had the ability to go undercover, go stealth, and weasel his way into the operation. And he had been looking for Kenny for the past seven years, too.

"Cartman!" The car window rolled down and hazel eyes locked onto his. The man's brown hair blew into his eyes and Cartman maintained a stoic expression. "Be careful."

"Shut the fuck up, Clyde. Two minutes," he retorted, then pulled out a cigar, turned, and walked down the alley.

He stopped at the door that led to the restaurant. In here was a potential Russian mafia front. In here he could potentially die if he didn't play his cards right. Keep your eyes low and your shoulders lower. But listen well. That was the only thing that stuck with him during his training. And he couldn't believe how that rule could play into his life now. His training with the force hadn't been a total waste, at least.

Eric chose Clyde for a reason. He was a nurse. In fact, he wouldn't have gotten him involved at all, except he needed someone involved in medical. He and Craig needed to know Kenny's condition in order to plan their mission. Craig was the way in, Clyde gave the deadline, and Cartman was the leader. They couldn't wait too long; just long enough.

Cartman tucked these thoughts in the back of his mind as he puffed on the cigar before he stepped into the restaurant. He walked up to the bartender slowly, smoothly. His eyes were cold and calculating; Cartman showed no signs of being intimidated. He stood his ground and walked slowly up to the bar, then rested his arms on the counter as he sat on the stool. His left hand reached into his jacked pocket and pulled out a business card.

He saw the recognition in the bartender's eyes.

"My boss and I have an appointment. He'll be in in a moment- y'know, business..." he received a grunt in response.

"What're ya havin'?" The voice is American, that's for sure. This guy managed the front while the others took care of business upstairs. It made sense. Eric watched as the bartender pulled out his phone.

"Tequila on the rocks. No salt, lemon." The bartender left without another word.

He wouldn't be having a drink tonight.

It was all code. He put in his order for the night, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary to the other patrons. What they didn't know was that instead of a drink he just ordered a weak little blonde boy.

He put his money down for Kenny McCormick. Bought his best friend for the night, or his body, anyway. As sick as it was, it was necessary. There was no other way he could get close to him. And he there was no way he could have put Craig in this situation yet. This was the only way he could make contact with Kenny; _if_ it was Kenny.

The door to the restaurant opened once more. A tall man walked inside and hazel eyes set on him before he approached.

The bartender entered, gave the man a look over. He pointed to Cartman.

"You get order?" Clyde spoke in a thick Russian accent. "I will not be disappointed tonight," He warns the bartender as he stands at the bar. He shakes his head, glances toward the restrooms.

"Take the stairs, first door on the right. No wanderin'." Eric nods and Clyde protracts a cane from his coat. Cartman eyes him in slight surprise as they disappear from the bartender's sight.

"Don't look so surprised," he maintained the accent, "boss _knows_ vat he likes." He winked, and hit the bottom of the cane on every step.

Cartman rolled his eyes; he forgot how cocky Clyde was. He didn't miss it at all.

Clyde hit the door open with his cane, then stepped in the room slowly. Cartman followed after him, maintaining his slightly deflated confidence and pulled out the business card.

"I'm not waiting," Clyde said, his lips were pulled downward in a menacing scowl. Even Cartman was slightly afraid of him. The man at the desk glanced up at them and sent a soft smile. That was creepy; Cartman fought off the shudder that tried to roll down his spine. "I will not be disappointed again. Your last was weak."

"I can understand how someone of your build would think so." The man replied, then stood up from his desk, "I don't hand over my assets until I'm properly paid." Clyde rolled his eyes and pulled out a bill. The man eyed him.

"Half. Other half when I see whore."

The man sighed heavily and turned to the door.

"Bring him in."

The door opened and Cartman held his breath. Two guards entered, and they threw a small body toward them. A whimper was heard from the person on the floor. Cartman felt his insides squirm with nausea. Clyde maintained his scowl. Cartman felt like puking.

"Show me the face." He sounded bored.

"Look up, pet," Slowly the blonde on the floor raised his head; his eyes remained on the floor. Cartman let out his breath and nodded, then turned to Clyde.

That was Kenny.

"Stand." His legs shook as he got on his knees. He wobbled as he stood; still his eyes remained on the ground. He was obviously done up for them tonight. The pictures Cartman had at home showed him in a true setting; covered in filth and blood, in nothing more than an old shirt, torn and stained.

Now Kenny stood before them with makeup covering the bruises and scratches on his body, his hair was golden and in waves that made him look like a cherub. He was tiny and looked much younger than he was; except in his eyes that would not dare look up.

"Look at your sire. He wants to see those pretty blues, my love."

Kenny finally raised his eyes. Cartman clenched his fists.

"He will suffice," Clyde simply said with a tone of disinterest. One of the guards pushed him forward, and Kenny stood before them both.

"You may only speak when they say, understand?" Kenny glanced to the man and gave a nod.

"Yes, Master."

"Good boy. Good night," Kenny bowed and kissed the man's hand, then took Clyde's hand in his much smaller one.

Clyde handed over the rest of the money, then grabbed Kenny by the back of the shirt and walked out of the room.

"Come," Cartman scowled at his tone with Kenny. "You are allowed to speak whenever you would like. I want you to feel comfortable. Are you hungry? Do you need anything?" Kenny shook his head. "I said you can talk."

"S-sorry, sir. N-no, I'm more than happy."

Eric closed his eyes at the words.

"And why is that?" Clyde asked, reaching into his pocket as they exited the bar from the back entrance. Kenny took his hand and his lips twitched feebly.

"I'm happy to serve you, I'm happy to make you happy." His eyes then focused on Cartman, "you as well, sir."

They approached Cartman's car, and he opened the backseat for Kenny. He carefully crawled inside, careful not to sit directly on his bottom, and instead knelt on the seat.

"Close your eyes," Clyde leaned forward over him, then caressed his face. Kenny shuddered against his touch, Cartman wondered if it was the first gentle touch he had felt the past seven years, and followed orders. He gasped as a needle plunged into his arm, but said nothing as he was injected. By the scars on his arms this had happened before. Many times.

"I'm sorry," Kenny whispered in a slower voice.

"For what?" Clyde asks, his accent began to slip. Kenny's eyes glazed over and he fought to keep them open.

"I didn't mean to disobey..." Was his quiet whimper before he fell asleep.

"Dude this is fucked up," Cartman said as he started the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. Clyde sighed heavily as he took off Kenny's shirt and reached for the bag under the seat. He flipped the car light on, and pulled out several items. He couldn't do much now in terms of a so-called "checkup" but based on Kenny's state he needed proper medical care.

The only problem was if he returned in better shape than when he left.

"We should just take him and run," Clyde suggested, putting the thermometer in his ear. He heard the beep several seconds later. He had a fever.

"Yeah, except we'd die. It's not like we can just swoop him off into the sunset, we've got to pin down everyone involved in this. We need more answers. We know it's Kenny, we just don't know everything." Clyde sighed heavily and lifted Kenny's shirt. Burns and bruises marred his skin; his flesh was a rainbow of color. "To everyone else he's just another ho, working the streets and going home to daddy. But it's not like that and until we have the proof no one will believe us."

They were silent as Cartman drove to the hotel. Clyde began cleaning the wounds and dressing them to hopefully keep them from becoming infected. The medicine wouldn't keep him asleep for too long; he would be awake in a couple of hours at the most.

When they arrived at the hotel, Cartman picked up Kenny and carefully carried him inside. Clyde carried the bags; the receptionist didn't give them a second look as they went to the elevator. Both of them were silent as they made their way up to the third floor.

They lay Kenny on the bed; Cartman propped his head on the pillow, and Clyde carefully took off his clothes. Now they could see more of his wounds and scars he had earned over time. He was missing a finger, his nose was crooked, they cut off his testicles, beat him and whipped him enough to leave scars. There were scratches, punctures, and claw marks that littered his body.

Clyde gave him medicine to calm the fever and the probable pain he was in. They dressed him in sweat pants and a hooded sweatshirt, and Cartman ordered room service. When he woke up they'd tell him they just wanted to treat him; although knowing what situation he was in... being treated wasn't necessarily a good thing to him. They'd figure it out; he would trust them. He'd have to.

With his current scratches and injuries taken care of, Kenny would wake up and probably feel a lot better. Hopefully. Or realizing the amount of pain he really was in would make it that much worse. Cartman just wanted what was best for him; he wanted him to subconsciously know that they were going to save him. They were getting him out of there.

"How long do we have?" Cartman asked as Clyde zipped his bag. The taller of the two sighed as he slung it over his shoulder and walked to the door.

"I would say a month at the most. Two weeks would be better. He's completely out of whack and there's only so much I can do. He needs proper treatment, and soon. As soon as you can." Eric remained silent as he considered Clyde's words.

Two weeks. That was do-able. He had his way in, had the proof that they had found Kenny, and Craig had managed to access secret files that would incriminate members of congress and other government officials. He had the names of every person involved in the ring. They were almost ready to make the move.

They just needed to wait for the kill.

Two weeks would be enough.

"I'll let you know," Clyde just gave a nod before he closed the hotel room door.

Now Cartman was left alone with Kenny. After seven years his sudden presence was an anvil. The air was thick with tension and Kenny was so fucked up and brainwashed that he would have no idea who Cartman was. There was no way. And, Cartman realized with a sharp pang of bitterness, he had no clue who Kenny was. Not really. Because underneath his warped mind his bet friend was locked up, waiting to be brought back. Almost like possession. But seven years of hell would change someone. And Kenny was no exception.

He turned on the television and leaned back on the headboard. He flipped through the channels as he grazed on the bag of chips he brought with him.

Cartman glanced over as he felt a pull on the blankets. Kenny's eyes slowly opened and he yawned with his hand over his mouth. His eyes were bleary, and with the makeup washed off he saw the dark bags and fading bruises.

"Whu-wh..." Kenny whimpered and looked up at Cartman in fear. "What...?"

"Are you hungry?" Cartman asked, then offered the bag of chips. Kenny's hands remained on the blanket.

"Where did he go?" He asked, his eyes shifted around the entire room. Eric shrugged and poured the rest of the chips in his mouth. "What am I...?" he pulled at the clothes and his eyes were wide with fear.

"Chill, Clyde had other things he..." he trailed off as Kenny scrambled out of the bed, "wait, hey, hey... sit down." The small man stopped his frantic movements and instantly sat on the floor. He winced but said nothing as he kept his eyes on his hands. "You can sit on the bed."

Kenny rose and then perched on the corner of the bed.

"Did I do something wrong?" The blonde asked, his fingers dug into his skin on his hands. Cartman couldn't help but wonder if he self-harmed due to his anxiety; how could he not? Cartman would probably be dead by now if he had been in Kenny's place.

"No, why?"

"He left. I didn't... I didn't do my job. I was supposed to please him, and he left..." He was actually trembling now, and blood oozed from the scratches in his hands. Cartman shook his head.

"Don't worry, he wasn't unhappy with you. Something just came up, work related. He's a busy guy. You're not in trouble. Don't worry." Kenny shook his head and crawled up the bed, then sat on his knees in front of Cartman.

"Master won't be happy with me. You don't leave, not unless I did something wrong. He's going to tell him. He's going to tell Master and... and... please, let me make it up to you." Eric stiffened as he felt Kenny's hand on his knee. He watched it slowly slide up his thigh. Cartman shook his head.

"No, don't do that. I don't want that."

"Please... please? I want to make you happy, I want to do whatever you need or want me to. I'm yours, sir. My body is yours. I've been bad, and I need punished. Master won't be happy with me. Master will say I'm too old. Please...?"

"Too old? You're young." Kenny shook his head. Tears glittered his eyes.

"I'm not desirable. I'm disgusting... old... used... I disgusted that man, didn't I? I'm hideous. I can hide my face. I can try real hard... I don't want to be done."

"Done with what?" Cartman asked. Kenny squeezed his thigh and the brunette felt nauseous.

"I'm almost to my expiration date." Expiration date; as if he were a perishable product. He saw himself as nothing more than spoiled milk in the fridge. "But I'm not, I know my job. I do it well. I love my sires. I love Master. Is it... do you want to hurt me? You can hurt me. I like it. I-I like anything you want me to."

He was desperate to make him happy in whatever way he could. Kenny was scraping the bottom of the barrel just to stay alive but he was finding nothing. Cartman couldn't go through with this. He was not going to have sex with Kenny, no matter what. He was his best friend and he was in danger.

But would he be in even more danger if he didn't do anything with him?

Cartman sighed heavily, then took Kenny's hand in his. His blue eyes, faded to a near grey, settled on him and despair met his gaze. Not desire.

"I want you to do something for me... okay?" Kenny nodded vibrantly yet his eyes betrayed his enthusiasm. "I ordered some food, why don't you go get some? I'm sure you're hungry. Eat until you're full. Watch some tv, just... hang out with me."

Just like when they were fifteen years old. Kenny would come over to his house and sit with him on the couch as they watched shitty programs on television. They'd waste hours saying nothing but being in each others' presence. And then Cartman would bring out the food and he knew that's what Kenny wanted all along. A place to be warm, a place to eat, a place to feel safe.

And that's what he'd give him now.

Cartman stood up and grabbed himself a hefty plate of the meal that the hotel provided. As he took his first bite of the pasta, he pointed to the cart, and sat down on the bed once more. Kenny looked between Cartman and the tray with more food and beverages than he had seen in... far too long. He then walked over, constantly glancing at Cartman who was trying to act as if he wasn't paying attention, and stood before the food.

Eric heard his stomach growl; he bit back a grin.

To his surprise, however, Kenny grabbed the serving utensil and placed the small amount of food in his hand. Cartman's jaw dropped in awe, and he kept his jaw slacked as Kenny walked to the corner by the door, faced the wall, and sat down.

"Dude," Cartman couldn't help himself. "Hey, don't y-you wanna use a plate or something? You can sit up here. Or on that bed. There's forks too." He received no response, and watched in utter disbelief and horror as Kenny seemed to force himself to eat. He struggled, coughed, chewed, and swallowed. "Uh... dude?"

There was once again no response from the frail blonde in the corner.

Instead, he heard a quiet gagging sound. His hands went over his mouth, and with a sour stomach Cartman realized eating had made him sick. Kenny trembled on the floor but didn't make a single sound; if it were Cartman he'd be crying out and swearing up a storm.

"W-what the _fuck_?!" He exclaimed as he watched in disgust as Kenny bowed his head in his hands. He was eating his own sick. "Stop that!"

Kenny froze and whimpered. His body lurched and he fought off the urge to throw up once again; Cartman realized he forced it back down his stomach.

Cartman knew his loudness was scaring Kenny. This whole situation was probably terrifying to him. Instead of being beaten, sexually abused, and forced into sex he was brainwashed to believe he wanted he was being given dinner and warm clothes and what seemed like a night off.

Those nights only happened when something terrible was about to happen.

"Here, let me help you. Don't... don't eat that," he carefully put his arms on Kenny's sides and lifted him. He swayed slightly, and leaned back into Cartman. "There you go, c'mon. Throw that in the toilet, okay? That's... you don't eat your own puke, that's nasty."

"Master... Master will be angry," his voice was scratchy and hoarse.

"Why?!" Cartman was appalled.

"I made a mess... I have to get rid of it."

"You are, you don't eat it... you flush it down the toilet." Kenny's hands shook as they hovered above the toilet. "Don't tell me you don't know how to use a toilet." His eyes watered and his cheeks darken. "Okay, just...uncup your hands. What do you do when you have to shit?" Cartman was already afraid he knew the answer to that.

"Please... please don't make me do this? Master will find out. He'll... I can't be punished again, I have to be good. I have to show him that I'm good... I'm not. I'm not... I'm bad. I'm worthless. This..." he held his hands together still, "this has more worth than me... it can keep me alive. I can't do anything right."

"It's just vomit," Cartman replied, then turned on the shower. "How about you take a bath or a shower? It'll make you feel better. And then I'll get you something better for your stomach. What do you want?"

"I..." he trailed off uneasily, "I don't know. This is-"

"That's puke. Not food, put it in the toilet and I'll get you something. You like bread? What about fruit? Or chocolate... chocolate is..." Cartman trailed off as he saw Kenny's eyes flicker. "You like chocolate?" he bit back a grin as he saw Kenny fidget. Of course he did; Cartman knew for a fact his favorite thing to eat was his mom's chocolate chip cookies. Once he was back home he'd have to get him some. "Huh? You can tell me. I'll get you some."

"Why?" he heard the sick fall into the toilet. Cartman flushed it immediately, then turned on the sink. Kenny put his hands under the water and his lips twitched upward slightly as he felt the warmth. "Why are you so nice to me?"

"You deserve it," his hands shook violently and his face reddened. Kenny's eyes squeezed shut and tears streamed down his cheeks. He pulled his hands away from the water and shook his head violently as he collapsed to the floor. He yelped as he fell on his bottom, and curled his legs to his chest. He looked like a little boy. A frightened little boy.

"N-no, I don't, please... please... I'm so bad. I need to be good, I need to make you _happy_," his face was scrunched as he fought off tears, and in a mere moment his hands were at Eric's belt. "Let me, this is all I want..." he nuzzled his thigh and his right hand caressed his side.

He almost had him. He saw that fire in his eyes; that was Kenny. But now he was gone, left to be this shattered soul trying to make sense of a world he has been forced to believe is right.

"Listen, what I want is to have you get in that tub and take a shower. I want to get you chocolate. I want to get you whatever you want. Why? Because it's what I want. I don't want sex." Kenny's eyebrows furrowed.

"Then why... why did you ask for me? I'm not a... I'm just an animal. A whore. I'm here for you to fuck me. I'm not here to be your girlfriend."

"I bought you, you'll do what I want you to. Okay?"

Kenny lowered his head and pulled his hands away.

"Yes, sir."

"My name is Eric... you can call me Eric." Kenny looked up and pulled off the sweater, then the pants.

"Yes, Eric."

Cartman left him to shower. He flipped through the channels and kept it on some random sitcom. Thankfully he had planned this; he had a chocolate bar on the pillow waiting for Kenny when he got out of the shower.

After about fifteen minutes he heard the shower turn off. The door opened and Kenny walked out, naked and soaking wet. Cartman sighed heavily and stood up.

"You'll get sick... you need to dry off." He grabbed a towel from the dresser and walked over to the blonde. He hummed as Cartman wrapped him in the towel and gently patted him dry. "What... does that feel good?" Cartman glanced down and saw Kenny's eyes were closed as he nodded. "Cool."

"I'm so warm." He sounded as if it were Christmas.

Cartman smiled and entered the bathroom. The air was humid and the glass was fogged up by the condensation from his shower. Good; he didn't turn it to cold.

He handed Kenny the clothes he had brought for him, and ended up dressing him when the movements proved to be too painful for Kenny. They sat on the bed together, and Kenny glanced at the chocolate bar nervously.

"Go ahead," Cartman chuckled, then took a gulp from the beer he got from the fridge. "There's some more in the fridge, all kinds of alcohol... if you want any." Fifteen year old Kenny would be over there in a heartbeat. This Kenny, however, was sniffing the chocolate bar.

Cartman couldn't help but keep his eyes locked on the blonde as he took a tiny nibble from the corner of the chocolate square. His eyes lit up and he leaned back; if Cartman could say so, he'd say he was almost enjoying himself. He was far from happy, but this was something.

"T-thank you, si- Eric," Kenny whispered, taking one square and let it set on his tongue.

"No problem," he could at least give him one night where he wouldn't have to work and feel terrified. This was probably the first in seven years.

Soon it would be over, though. Soon he would get him out of here for good. He just needed twenty thousand dollars and someone else to see him to get this set in motion.

"So," Cartman said, his eyes on Kenny as the smaller man licked his fingers. "Do you wanna go catch a movie? Have a night out? Or just chill here?" Kenny appeared taken aback. His jaw went slack and he was awfully pale. "It's your choice."

"I-I..." he fumbled for words, "whatever you-"

"Nuh-uh, I'm not playing that game. Tonight's yours. What do you want to do?" Kenny's knuckles rubbed together in nervousness, much like how another blonde Cartman was familiar with did, and kept his eyes on the bed. He mumbled something, and Cartman raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

Kenny shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself.

Cartman tilted his head slightly. He was giving himself a hug.

"Do..." he trailed off, "do you want a _hug_?"

A loud sob ripped from Kenny's throat and he nodded before he burrowed his head in his arm. Cartman couldn't think to do anything else, he swooped his arms around Kenny and held him safely, protectively. It was first nature; after all he said he'd do whatever Kenny wanted. And this was him, after all. This was Kenny. He hadn't hugged him in so long.

Feeling him, holding him made him realize this was real. This was the shell of his best friend. And he was picking up the pieces one by one.

Hopefully it would be worth it.

But as Kenny clutched his shirt and clung to him he realized that yes, it was. Because whether or not Kenny was conscious of his actions or not, he put a flicker of hope in his spirit that had long been turned to nothing but dying embers.

"You... you're so nice," Kenny whispered into his shoulder. Cartman bit back his laugh; that was the first time he ever heard that. "You..." he just shrugged. "Will you..." his words died and Cartman looked down at Kenny. He was practically purring from near-contentment. How long had it been since he had been held like this?

"What do you want?" he didn't say in a snide tone, but he was genuinely curious. Kenny shook his head.

"You'll laugh... you'll hurt me..." Eric shook his head. "I just want to feel..." he shook his head again.

"You probably won't understand why but... I care about you. A lot. I love you." Kenny's eyes flickered.

"W-why?" he questioned, still cherishing the arms around him. "Why would you love something like me?"

Something. He didn't even see himself as a person. He saw himself as little more than trash, if that.

"I just... what did you want?"

"You," Kenny replied with a different look in his eyes. It was unsettling; like when he was fifteen. Like he could see right through him. "I want... I want you to make love to me." Cartman was silent and still for a few moments. Kenny watched him, waiting. The brunette swore he could feel his world crumble when he shook his head. "W-why...?"

"Because I don't love you that way. Someone will make love to you, you are loved, and you will be loved in the ways you want. I don't want to be just like the ones that've hurt you. I'll just hug you, okay?" Kenny let out a quiet whimper, then nodded.

"No one will..." he mumbled, "I'm not worth anything. M-Master. Master loves me though... even though I'm not worth it. Master will always love me, even when I do bad things. I have Master." Cartman's heart sank as he swore he felt Kenny smile against him. "Master will make love to me. I won't deserve it, I don't deserve it. But he'll tell me I do. He'll tell me I'm good... but I'm not."

"Yeah you are," was Eric's reply. He knew this caught Kenny off guard. "you've done really good tonight. I'll tell him. I'll tell him that you did everything I asked you to do." Kenny looked up at him, his eyes glittering.

"I did, didn't I?" Cartman nodded. He witnessed what looked like Kenny's best attempt at a smile. "He'll be so _happy_ with me, Eric!" He nodded slowly and lay down. Kenny curled up against him and clutched his shirt, subconsciously seeking comfort he didn't think he needed.

"Yeah, but... will you be happy?" Cartman asked tentatively. He looked down at Kenny and saw his eyes were closed. The blonde gave a slight nod.

"If Master is happy, I'm happy." The brunette breathed a heavy sigh and kept a tight arm around Kenny. His deep breaths alerted him that he was, in fact, asleep.

Cartman was afraid Kenny would say that. Because his so-called "Master" had him tight in his grip. Kenny was so warped, that at the end, when he would be saved... he may not want to be. Because their rescue mission wasn't going to be getting him out of there in the middle of the night under the radar. No, it had to be Kenny's choice in front of them all.

And right now he was trying his damn hardest to butter him up. This was his only chance. Cartman was just afraid it wasn't enough.


	8. March 22, 12:12 AM

_Note: If it wasn't clear last chapter happened two weeks prior to chapter one. Past tense means it's in the past, present is in the present and yeah. There needed to be backstory behind Cartman's motives I think and it comes into play in this chapter. I know he was really out of character so I apologize._

* * *

><p>"I don't know if we can wait until tomorrow," Kyle says as he hears Craig's quiet voice on the program. Cartman groans and buries his face in his hands as he ponders his choices. Whatever move he makes could ultimately jeopardize the entire operation.<p>

Butters sits in the chair across from him and watches the wrinkle in his brow deepen with every passing second.

Right now he could only think of two options. One, wait until tomorrow and let whatever could possibly happen happen. This would put both Craig and Kenny at risk, especially since Kenny was apparently taken up to his master for something. For his screaming, most likely. And Craig could be compromised as well and that was the last thing they needed. If they found the bug then that would be it.

The other option is to go in tonight. That was difficult. After all Cartman had just been there to propose a possible agreement. That's why Craig is there now; he's collateral for the final decision. If he went in tonight then he would have alert the agency, but leave him enough time to get Kenny and Craig out of there. Neither of them could be in the middle of that fray, or at least Kenny couldn't.

"Why not?" Butters asks when Cartman voices the options. If Kenny is there when the forces come to shut down the entire ring he could get proper help. There is no need for Cartman to buy him out. If he is there when they arrive then he'll be safe. They'll take care of him.

"Because," Cartman replies, "he won't trust us. He'll think he's in trouble... that fucker will convince him that he's the one who's at fault. If we buy him and then tell him he's free and take him to the hospital then he'll trust us."

"W-but that doesn't make sense!" Butters snaps, his eyes are ablaze. "We're buying him, how the hell can he trust another person who bought him?!"

Cartman sighs heavily and rakes a hand through his hair. He mumbles something and Kyle's head snaps up from the papers. His eyes narrow on the brunette, and he sets down the file.

"What did you just say?" He growls. The look on his face is deadly. Cartman looks at all of them and sighs once more.

"I bought him once before... well... Clyde did."

"Clyde?!" Stan exclaims. "Clyde's in on this too?"

"Clyde's my boss... a couple weeks back I called him up and told him what I knew. He's like part Russian and he can do a decent accent so he pretended to be my boss, bought Kenny, then checked him out. He told me we had a month at the most to get him out of there. He's not doing good and-"

"Well no shit!" Kyle barks, then shakes his head. "I can't fucking believe..." he trails off and his eyes widen, "you didn't actually have _sex_ with him did you?" Cartman shook his head.

"Fuck that, I told him I wanted whatever he wanted so I... hugged him."

Butters bites his lip and feels his eyes burn. All Kenny wants is comfort. He wants to feel safe; he's desperate for it. Butters can't help but feel at least a sliver of happiness that Cartman did that; he gave him a new chance. And it makes sense. Cartman had to make a move somehow and gain his trust if he's going to take him out from there.

"What are you thinking?" Stan asks Cartman with all seriousness in his voice. "I can call Wendy whenever you want."

The heavyset man groans in frustration and slams his hand on the table. Butters jumps and Kyle smiles a little at him.

"Can you believe it?" Butters asks, staring at his hands, "after all these years... here we are."

The other three are silent as the words sink in. Here they are.

After all this time they finally had the truth, the actual truth about Kenny. Every choice they made in their lives had been because of his disappearance. If he had been there they wouldn't have even taken a second to focus on the fact on the corruption that lay underground the world that was built on lies and stolen labor. Now everything is different.

Now they can right one of the biggest wrong in the world today.

It isn't for the fame they searched for as kids. It isn't for being social justice warriors. No, it's bringing their best friend back into their lives. Bringing their best friend out of a hell he didn't deserve. They couldn't bring back the seven years all of them had lost, but they could make up for that lost time.

"Guys?" Cartman says more than asks, "I think it's time to bring Kenny home."

Kyle smiles sadly and Stan nods before typing in his phone.

"I think you're right," the redhead replies, then shakes his head, "I can't... I don't know what..." he trails off, unable to finish his sentence. Cartman straightens in his seat, and looks at him.

"You and Stan are going to stay here. You're going to call Wendy at 1:30 and tell her the location is at Klinka. You know, 15th and Reddick? Tell her the fuckers are going to be upstairs but to have people outside waiting just in case. We'll get there at 1:00, get Kenny and go to the hospital, then the police station. Stan, at 2:00 you're sending that article and all of the documents to every major news agency. This is going global guys."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Butters begins, his eyes wide on Cartman, "what do you mean _we_?"

Kyle and Stan look between Butters and Cartman.

"You're coming with me," this is not a suggestion but a demand. Butters clenches his jaw and lets out a heavy sigh.

"B-but no, I can't..."

"You heard him," Kyle interrupts, "he knows you. He knows you and Craig and if he sees you he'll know he can trust Cartman. With you three? It'll probably be enough to convince him." Cartman nods. Butters remains silent as he stews this over in his mind.

He is going to be there tonight. Tonight he'll be able to see Kenny, not on a leash, not as someone's property; but free. After seven years... this is it. And going in the center of this ring is worth it.

Because Kyle's right. Even though Kenny doesn't know who they are, he trusts them and it's bothering him. And he knows now that he and Craig are from his past; he will want the answers. Hopefully their presence will help him step out of the fog he's been stuck in for so long.

And even if he doesn't. Even if he runs away and he never sees them again he wants to still be there to save him. He wants to do whatever he can to help Kenny get out of there. As Butters thinks about this it terrifies him. But so is Kenny, despite the fact he isn't allowed to be.

Butters just doesn't want him to be afraid anymore.

"So... are you in?" Eric finally asks. The blonde takes a deep breath before giving a nod. The brunette grins and pulls out his phone; he isn't enjoying this, but knowing their operation will be a success is satisfying, to say the least. "Clyde? I need you to stop whatever you're doing and come over to Stan's- yeah, Stan Marsh. No, I don't give a shit if you're at work, I'm going in." A moment's pause, "Craig is in already. They raped Kenny with some metal pipe. Yeah, yeah, we're gonna need medical. Yeah, we're calling the police and-"

_"Your turn, princess." _

Cartman stops talking as he hears the faint voice on the recording. Stan stops typing mid-sentence and Butters bites his lip. The air is full of tension and they heard Craig gasp in pain over the speakers of the laptop.

_"Over my dead body,"_ Craig says. Eric hisses in a breath and shakes his head.

"Hold..." he whispers, "shit, shit, fucking _shit_..."

"Call!" Kyle barks, "call the... whatever his name is. Call him. Now!"

_"You think you have a choice?"_

_"You don't own me, and you don't own him, so get your fucking hands off me if you know what's good for you."_

_"Ha, this one's sure got a mouth. Ya hear that?!" _

"Craig, don't you fucking dare..." Cartman trails off, pulling out a separate phone. He turns the volume on the recording down and puts the phone to his ear. They're silent, watching, waiting, and trying to listen to Craig.

The scream from the computer didn't go unheard by anyone. Butters covers his mouth as Craig's shriek echoes until he's silent. He's gone.

Kyle appears shaken and has his arms folded to his chest. Stan has his hands in his hair and stares with an open mouth at Cartman's laptop.

They have Craig. And that's not part of the plan. Butters turns to Cartman, who is pacing and trying to contain his frustration and the urgency in his voice.

"Get your boss on the phone, you fucking twat," he spits, "or I'll change my God damn mind."

They're hanging on to his every word. Never before has time felt so delicate, every move has a ripple effect, like dominoes. One false move and they would topple over.

"I have the twenty," Cartman finally says. "My boss has already found a buyer who is impatient at best. Both whores come with me unharmed. If you lay a hand on mine my boss will _not_ be pleased." The silence is deafening. "1:00, I'll be there. Have them ready, you're not wasting our time again."

Cartman hangs up the phone and takes a deep breath. His mismatched eyes lift after a brief moment to attempt to calm himself, and set on Butters.

"We're in."

Those words have never sounded more terrifying.

And suddenly everything falls into place. Stan is on the phone with Wendy, telling her every last detail and reading the names off of the list. Kyle is scanning the documents onto his laptop in case damage comes to the originals and the backup files. And Cartman is pacing and smoking a cigarette despite Stan's claims to go outside. This time it's different.

"You should get changed," Kyle says, breaking the tension-filled silence. Butters' hands are shaking, "that way in case anyone who saw you won't be able to recognize you. But Kenny will."

"Am I... am I supposed to be the buyer?" Butters asks, Cartman's eyes flicker up and Butters feels sick as the brunette nods. Butters shakes his head and fights off the nausea crawling in his stomach.

He doesn't know how he can play this off. But he'll try his best. As long as he doesn't have to say anything, then he'll be fine.

By the time Butters changes into borrowed clothes from Stan, Clyde is waiting in the living room where everyone is gathered. As Butters enters the living room, he jumps in fear. He's menacing, the look in his eye cold and calculating. It nearly makes his blood freeze.

He's good; almost too good.

"If his injuries are as bad as you say we don't have a lot of time. We need to go now," his voice is kind though, urgent. Cartman nods and all eyes are now on Butters, who nods as well.

Kyle grips his shoulder, his eyes are searching and scared, and his smile seems too difficult to muster. Butters feels his own lips twitch but they can't lift.

"You ready, malysh?" Butters is more than a little surprised at the accent Clyde has. But even more impressed.

The blonde plasters on a smile and gives a timid nod. Clyde's hand feels heavy on his shoulder.

"Don't worry," he assures him, "everything will be okay."

It's difficult to agree with that, but he appreciates Clyde's optimism. They need it.

"I-I hope..." Butters trails off. Clyde chuckles and sits in the passenger seat. He pats the steering wheel and flashes a grin at Cartman, who scowls at him.

"Hope is all he needs."

They're silent as those words buzz in their minds and in the car. As long as Kenny has hope they can make it. That's all that matters. Yet Butters is afraid he has the wrong kind of hope... that he hopes to die.


	9. March 22, 12:26 AM

42 squeezes his eyes closed and tries not to gag as he tastes the bitter seed that coats the back of his throat. After several more thrusts, Master pulls his head away from his pelvis and lays back on the bed. He sighs and outstretches an arm, waiting for 42 to curl up next to him.

Except he doesn't move a single muscle.

"Come here," Master orders. He remains. Master digs his nails into his arm and yanks him down. A loud cry of pain emits from 42's throat. He feels Master smile against his shoulder as he kisses the knobby flesh. "You're such a good boy, you're my good boy..."

The compliments make his stomach flutter, much like the delicate caresses on his arms and chest. He shivers and closes his eyes as he feels Master's fingers trail down his abdomen.

He can fight back. He can demand to have the answers; Craig knows who he is. Craig has everything he needs. He needs to get back to him.

He's not going to fight back. Instead he'll play right along. He needs to know the truth.

"Thank you," 42 whispers, closing his eyes as he feels a thumb press against his hip bone, which juts out from starvation.

"You know I don't want to kill you, you're my favorite, pet..." he doesn't move. His hands are almost on him now. "But I can't have you misbehaving, and I surely can't have you influencing 43. Isn't that right?" He nods.

What's going to happen? What does this mean? He gasps as Master strokes him slowly. This is new; no one has done this before.

"Does that feel good?" Master asks, then bites his shoulder. 42 gasps out loud and feels his legs spread as his body gives in to the ministrations. "This is what you should do, make people feel good... do you do this?"

"Mm..." he falters, then tries his best to nod, "Y-yes, M-Master..." he moans. His face is hot, the pressure in his stomach feels different now. He barely registers the pain as he feels the ring of muscles around his abused entrance contract.

"You know I love you, right?" His eyes stare right into Master's; he's hypnotized. He loves him. He knows he loves him. He can feel it. No one has ever made him feel like this.

"Yes..."

"And I only hurt you to punish you for being bad. I don't want to do it. When I hurt you it hurts me, you realize that? You hurt me, so much."

42 feels the hand tighten around his arousal and he lets out a strained whimper.

"So much it almost kills me," he feels nails scrape along his sensitive flesh. No, no, not that. Make it feel good again. His body jerks and he curls his toes as he silently begs for the release of this built up pressure. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

"I'm s-sorry," he manages, "I won't hurt you again." Master nods and runs a hand through his hair.

"Lay on me," 42 lies back against Master's chest and rests his head on his shoulder. This feels right. This feels like love. He wants this. "Someone is going to try to take you away from me tonight."

His eyes open and he glances back, trying to get a look at Master's face.

"W-"

"But they won't love you... not when they see you, you realize that? You're hideous. You're nothing. You are deformed. You're very bad, aren't you?" He trembles as he nods. "No one can love a bad slave. No one can love something like you, can they?" He remains silent. "Can they?"

But Craig...

42 closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"No, Master. I'm not... h-huh..." he trails off as Master's hand begins to stroke him again, "I'm not worth anyone's love."

"No, you're not," his eyes burn. "But you know what?" His legs shake as Master presses his solid member against his torn hole. "I love you, and only I will." His face flushes darker as he feels his head rub against him. Oh God he wants it.

"M-Master, please..." he whines, pressing himself as hard as he can against Master. "I-I want you to... to make love to me. P-please...?"

He feels Master pull away from him. His hand releases his arousal and he lets out a moan of anguish. His body twitches with this sudden need he's never quite felt. He needs it bad.

42 falls off the bed as Master swings his fist into his cheek. He howls in pain and clutches his stomach as he crashes to the floor. Despite the fatal ache in his body, he still feels the twinges of lust.

"You want _me_ to make love to _you_?" He hears his voice bellow. 42 can taste blood as he feels a kick to his side. He wasn't thinking, he shouldn't have...

"I'm sorry, I..." he trails off, "I didn't mean to. Master, I only live to serve you... to love you. Only you." He sees a silver glint in Master's hand.

"You only live..." he sees the blade and closes his eyes. Oh God, not like 40. Not like 40. "Because I _let_ you. Give me your foot."

"Wh-wha..." he outstretches his leg and winces as Master twists his foot. Bones pop, and he fights off the urge to scream. The knife is thrown on the floor, and he drops his foot to walk over to his dresser. 42 bites down on his lip; he feels blood gush in his mouth as he splits the flesh.

Master turns around and has a pair of wrench.

Oh no.

"M-Master, p.. please?!" he begs, "I... I didn't run, I didn't... I thought... you said you love me!" he cries finally, the tears burn his cheeks.

"I do," Master lifts his leg again, and grabs holds his heel as he clamps the wrench around his big toe.

"Then why do you hurt me?! I've done nothing wrong, I just want to feel you love me. I just want to feel LOVED!"

His eyes roll in the back of his head as a boiling jolt of pain runs through his nerves. A sickening crunch fills the room and his body seizes from the horror.

With his eyes closed he sees Craig, he sees another man who told him he loved him, he sees the pizza man.

"_Kenny McCormick?" _he hears the voice echo in his head.

"_I'm sorry, I don't know who that is." _

He opens his eyes and finds himself in the basement once more. As his eyes adjust, he lurches forward, the contents of his stomach spilled from his mouth as he sees his toe next to him.

He doesn't glance down. He can't.

As he comes to he realizes he is alone. Craig is gone. Where did he go? What did they do to him? He wants Craig. He wants the answers.

"_Kenny McCormick?"_ he hears the pizza man's voice once more in his brain.

"I'm 42," he whimpers, wrapping his arms around himself. "I am nobody. I am nothing... Craig, you _lied_ to me... you don't know me... I'm going to die tomorrow. I will have served my Master, my purpose done. I'm nothing without him. I love Master. I would die for Master..."

But Master won't die for him. Master will kill him. Master loves him... he has to love him. Why else would he punish him? Because he hurts him. 42 is nothing but trouble. He causes pain. He's terrible. He deserves to die, he shouldn't hurt anyone anymore.

He is proud to be 42. 41 was the best though. She loved Master, she gave him children. He could never do that. He presses his hand to his stomach and clutches the skin tightly; if only he could bear children. Then Master would love him. Master would be so happy.

They would be vile children. Just like him. Master would have them killed. Just like him.

He lays down and closes his eyes. With his arms around himself he rocks back and forth slowly and begins to hum. He likes the sound it makes. Humming makes him happy, makes him fall asleep. He wonders if that's what music is like. He doesn't remember music. He doesn't think he ever had the chance to hear it.

He wakes up when he feels a gentle hand touch his arm. He opens his eyes and finds Craig looking down at him with a cut on his face and his left eye swollen shut. He's shivering, he's sweaty. He looks haunted.

"Is it your first time?" He asks weakly, Craig remains silent.

"What if..." he trails off, "what if I told you we could get out of here?" 42 closes his eyes. Escape isn't be worth it; running will kill him. The last time he did... he shudders. He remembers the electric currents running through his body. He can't do that again.

"No, I'm not leaving Master. You shouldn't either. Are you hurt? Did they fuck you?" Craig's eyes are glassy. "You didn't say no, did you?" he receives no answer, "you can't say no, you _can't_... I told you... oh, Master will be so upset."

"Fuck your Master," Craig's voice trembles, his shoulders shake, "they tied me down... I can fight, they knew that. And they... oh God, it hurts..."

"Lay down," he says, "on your stomach, I-I'll... make sure you're okay." Craig shakes his head.

"Don't... fuck, they... how can they do this?"

"It's what we are," he answers, running a soft hand down his back. He feels Craig flinch, hears the catch in his throat. "I won't hurt you."

"How many times have you heard that?" His eyes lower.

"I only hurt myself... I love them. I want to make them happy. It's what I'm here for. Today's my last day... I'm dying soon. I've done my job, and I haven't done it well."

"Be-because you know it's _wrong_!" Craig's voice cracks, "fuck..." 42's hand rests on his rump and he tenses.

"Don't..."

"Can I make sure you're okay? Tomorrow you have to be. Even if it hurts you have to be okay."

"Fuck tomorrow..." Craig sighs, "it hurts, Kenny..."

42 freezes.

Kenny. Kenny McCormick.

"Who is that?" he whispers, slowly spreading his cheeks. There's blood. Not a lot. Craig whimpers.

"Your name's Kenny. Kenny McCormick. We went to high school together."

He went to high school? He knows him. Craig knows who he is. He's the second person to say that name. The pizza man. He has to know the pizza man.

"I didn't go to school, I was found as a baby by Master."

"Do you remember growing up with that psycho?" 42 feels around his hole; they didn't use lubrication. He pulls his hand away; that's all he needs to know. The rest is self-explanatory; he's been through it enough to know there was tearing and bruising.

"You'll get used to it, sometimes it even feels good..." he trails off, "I don't remember growing up. I don't remember very much. I just remember Master, 41, and my home. This is my home. This is all I know..."

"He stole you. You have a mom and dad who are still looking for you. You have a brother, an older brother. You have a younger sister. You have friends who haven't stopped looking for you, and we've found you, Kenny."

"You're _lying_!" he cries, retracting from Craig. "You... you're trying to trick me. I'm nothing. NOTHING! And so are you!"

He sees Craig glance around him. His eyes settle on something.

"What the hell is that?" He asks; 42 follows his gaze.

"My toe."

Craig lets out a whine and rests his head on the cement floor.

"Why? What the _fuck_?! How are you okay with that?! How are you not in pain?"

"Because I'm bad, because I deserve it. Pain is my punishment and I deserve it. You deserve this, you fought back. You told them no. You're just like me and you can't be. You won't make it."

"You're fucking sick," Craig spits, "to believe that we deserve to be cut up and raped. They've got you... so wound around their fingers that you can't see what they're doing is wrong."

'They _saved_ me. Master loves me, he's the only person who loves me. It's not wrong, it's what we're made to do." Craig curls his legs to his chest.

"My... my master wants you. My master wants to take you with us. He's coming to get us." 42 narrows his eyes.

"Master told me," his voice is cold; it shocks Craig.

"You remember a few weeks back? There was this guy... he bought you for the night. Got you chocolate?" 42 closes his eyes. He remembers that; he remembers that well. It's the reason why he's blind in his right eye.

"Yes."

"That's my master."

He had been nice. He held him, told him he loved him. He actually believed him when he said it. No wonder Craig is so useless. He doesn't know the ropes. His master knows nothing. He can't live like that.

"Oh."

But can he? He could live each day and not be fucked. He could be held and given chocolate. He could have a say. Maybe that master will grow to love him too. Maybe he'll make love to him. He told him no, but maybe... maybe he would.

He lowers his head. No one will. No one will ever make him feel loved. Because he's not. No one loves him. No one but Master. And Master won't waste his time feeding his wrongful lust.

"I... I want you to come with me."

"You lie," he replies, "you're trying to hurt me. I've done nothing wrong... I'm nice to you. Why do you want to hurt me? I'm no one. I'm nothing. I have no name. No one loves me... only Master. He almost made love to me, you know," he wants to make Craig jealous. Master loves him far more than Craig's could ever love him.

"What do you mean?"

"Master loves me, I asked him to."

"Is that why you lost your toe?"

He remains silent. Craig's tone was condescending; he didn't like it.

He doesn't have a chance to reply. The door opens and Craig whimpers. 42 watches him recoil and try to disappear in the shadows. It won't work; they always find him. There is no use in trying to hide; their eyes always shine so bright when they're scared. He hasn't been scared in a long time.

He turns around and kneels when he sees Master. He lowers his head and lets out a purr as Master rakes his fingers through his hair.

"43, come out here, I'm not going to hurt you." 42 can assure him this; his voice isn't sadistic. He just wants to talk. He nuzzles his head in his thigh. Master laughs. "You're affectionate tonight, pet."

"Only for you, Master."

Craig hobbles out of the corner. He has a limp as he walks. 42 realizes he's taller than Master. He's so beautiful. Lean and strong; he closes his eyes. He can only think of Master like this.

"I apologize for my men's behavior, I did not permit this to happen. If there is anything I can do to accommodate you, let me know. I suspect my pet has informed you well?" Craig remains tight lipped. "I suggest you speak."

"Yes, _perfectly_ well, thank you," his tone is threatening. 42 turns to him with a look of surprise. The expression on his face is one he has never seen on another slave. He's challenging Master.

"Your Master hasn't done well in showing you your place, has he? I'm unsure if I can allow my best to go to such lazy hands... which is why I'm here, my love." 42 looks up; his eyes shining bright with happiness as he hears the words.

Craig eyes the master warily, what is he trying to do here? What is he going to say? Seeing 42's affection only reminds him what is at stake. He knew what he was getting into; but rape? He's in shock; the realization hasn't set in, and he doubts it will until they're far away from here.

"You know I love you, pet..." Master says, brushing his cheek. 42 nods and clings to his legs. "And I know you're not good, you're practically worthless." Craig opens his mouth to fight back but watches the blonde nod.

"I'm sorry, I'm trying... I don't want to be a burden anymore."

"You're a burden out there. You're worth nothing anymore. No one wants you. 43's master has offered money for you but you will be of no use to him. You realize that, right? It's your choice but if you stay with me, I want to marry you.'

Craig's eyes widen as he hears the words. He's on to them; that's the only explanation. Or at the very least he expects something.

"I..." 42 glances at Craig, then to Master. He sees the gentle smile on his face and relaxes.

"Don't decide now," he pauses and then looks at the raven, "your master is on the way. Then you will decide."

Cartman was on the way? Tonight? They had set the plan for tomorrow. But this whole night had been a wreck from the get-go. And as far as he could tell they both needed to get out; now.

"I will come back down to get you when he is here. Please choose wisely."

They are left together in the dark. 42 holds his toe in his hands.

"Your husband wouldn't have done that, or raped you with a pole in one night. He would hug you, tell you you're good. He'd tell you you're beautiful and the most incredible person in the world."

"But I'm not, that would be a lie. Master doesn't lie." Craig sighs heavily.

"Kenny, you are the most amazing person I've ever known," he answers with a gentle smile. He sees the confused and shocked look on his face and can' t help but feel a little happy.

"I don't know how... I'm nothing," is the response he receives. This causes Craig to laugh.

"Actually, the answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42."

His eyes shine with tears and he feels his hand take Craig's in his. Craig's body is beginning to ache now. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off.

"Is my name really Kenny?" he whispers as if he were swearing for the first time. "Do you... do you really know me?"

"I thought you said I was lying."

"I..." he trails off, unable to finish his sentence. Two people in the same night using the same name on him didn't seem logical. He didn't understand how both Craig and the pizza man could lie to him, especially when the pizza man didn't have any reason to. "I don't know who to believe."

"The thing is..." Craig trails off, "that's your choice. You are free to choose. This is your life and you are in complete control. Just know that my... master's... offer still stands. I promise that you'll be free by morning."

42 whimpers and looks down at his toe in his hands. His eyes then settle on Craig, who is visibly shaking and quickly losing composure. They did this to him... to both of them... were they bad? Was it their fault? He didn't see Craig do anything wrong, and he... he shakes his head. He can't let himself believe Craig. He can't die like 40.

All he has ever wanted was freedom. But as he touches his stomach, he realizes he'll never have it. These scars and brands will make him forever bound. He has no way out; only in death. He wants his way out; he wants to be free.

And that's not the freedom Craig or his master could give him.

Only Master could.


	10. March 22, 12:38 AM

Butters stares out the car window; all is a blur before his eyes, much like the events that have so far transpired tonight.

It started out like a normal night; he was going to go home and work on homework before falling asleep in the bitterness of his apartment. Only that never happened. Here he is pretending to be a Russian mob boss's client as they go to rescue their friend who has been missing for seven years.

His eyes shift to the clock; he can't tear his eyes away. It's 12:38 a.m.. They now have twenty-two minutes to get Kenny and Craig, if all goes according to plan.

Butters' phone vibrates and he reads the text from Kyle. His heart sinks and he leans forward to Eric and Clyde. He stares at the words on the screen in horror, unsure of what to say; how could he say it?

He turns the text to Clyde, who shakes his head and hits his temple on the window.

"They... they raped Craig."

Cartman's hand slams against the steering wheel and Clyde's hands shake as he hands Butters his phone.

"I-is he serious?" he asks Butters, who gives a timid nod. He sounds terrified.

Suddenly this is real. Craig is a private investigator with years of training to protect himself. He isn't a part of the human trafficking ring; yet he's seen just the same.

He can't help but wonder what exactly they're getting themselves into, and if it would end up being too much for them to handle.

"I fucking told them not to... shit... it's on recording, right?" Butters texts Kyle back with Cartman's question in mind and waits in silent anxiety for the response.

"Yeah," he finally answers. "they also have an apology from whoever Master is."

He feels sick as they drive past Five Points. Butters has never been in this area of town. It's enough to make him slink down in the seat and silently pray he won't be shot at.

Butters can't help but wonder how this is going to end. An ex-cop of three months, a nurse, a private investigator, and a pizza delivery boy all going against the southwest sex-trafficking ring and the mafia members that led it all. He can't understand how they could possibly make it out unscathed; no matter what they wouldn't. They raped Craig. Whatever happens now is up in the air.

They just have to cooperate and keep suspicions low. As soon as they have Kenny it doesn't matter. They will be found by the feds, taken into custody, and hopefully locked away for life. The problem is; who's a part of it in the FBI? The CIA? SWAT? Interpol? They are all on the list. It's impossible to know who they can trust. They just have to hope for the best.

Or, by the end of the night, are they all going to be in body bags? He can't help but dwell on this thought. A shiver runs down his spine and he bites his lip. He has to keep composure, be calm.

"Butters?" Cartman says, breaking the uncomfortable silence in the car. He has a feeling they were all reeling on the same idea.

"Y-yeah?"

"When we're there..." he trails off, "don't say a word."

He nods. If he does he knows he'll blow it; he's nearly too nervous enough as it is. Besides, what is the point in him talking? He is just a prop. He has nothing to say to Kenny's captors.

What is he going to say to Kenny?

There is so much to say; seven years of unspoken words. But there is no meaning. What he has to say, who he is, has no meaning to Kenny. Not now, anyway. None of them do. How are they supposed to chip away the brainwashed psyche that he has built up? And who's to say they will find Kenny beneath? Who's to say that warped mind isn't Kenny?

After all, none of them are fifteen anymore. They have all grown up and moved on, and in a sense Kenny has too. If he snaps out of this mental state, this submissive slave ideal that has been forced onto him, he won't know who he's supposed to be. All he will remember is sophomore year of high school before tons of torture he didn't deserve.

How could someone cope with that? Butters doesn't think its possible. But f it's Kenny, he will find a way. They all will.

"Are you ready?" Cartman turns and asks Butters as he stops the car. He glances around. The streets are dark and shining with melted snow, everything looks bitter outside, and dirty. The shadows loom, and prying eyes are watching, waiting. He can just sense it.

"Y-yeah..." he trails off, the waver in his voice betrays him.

"As soon as we step out of here, you say nothing. You just nod and take it, okay? Keep your eyes low. You never know what could happen."

They could take him, couldn't they? If he so much looks at someone the wrong way, or maybe the right way they'll take him.

"So what are we... doing, exactly?" Butters asks.

"Kenny's choosing up. What's going to happen is the psycho and his cronies are going to basically harass him into looking at him, the master or whatever. We're also going to be doing the same thing. With you there it might give us a better chance."

"What do you mean, _might_?" Butters asks; this has to work. There is no way Kenny could possibly want to stay there, is there? How could anyone?

"Usually choosing up means your owner will retaliate somehow. And he'll be scared."

Eric opens his door and stands outside the car. He pulls out a cigar and Butters watches him take a puff; he doesn't even smoke cigarettes. Then, his hand bangs on the window; he jumps in surprise, and quickly scrambles out of the car.

"We don't have time, you fucking twink," Cartman barks to him. Butters bites his tongue and nods. Gravel crunches, and he turns to find Clyde looming above them with a stoic look on his face.

"This is not worth my time," his accent his heavy and Butters tries his best not to appear shocked.

They walk down the alley way, Butters in between Eric and Clyde, in near silence; the only sound that they hear is their walking, and Clyde's cane rapping against the asphalt with every step.

It scares Butters how good they both are at this.

Eric opens the back door to a building and enters; he quickly follows suit. The lights are red and it makes him feel wounded. It smells like cigarettes and the air is thick. There is no bartender, and Cartman simply walks up the stairs.

"Remember, keep your eyes low," Clyde says to him. He nods feebly and suddenly wants to hold someones' hand. This is terrifying. How can they do this? How can Kenny live like this?

He glances at his phone to check the time; 12:48. Twelve minutes.

How would this be possible?

Butters clasps his hand in his own and feels empty at the poor attempt at comfort.

"You pay up front?" He turns around and sees the shoes of someone he doesn't know. That voice is familiar. He tries his best not to look up; it's the master.

"It's in an account, here is the number. All of your money is in there," Cartman replies, handing over a piece of paper. "Now where are they?" The master sighs.

"Do you tolerate the way your lackey tries to run your show? I had one just like him," he's addressing Clyde. "I couldn't stand him."

"He is good, I don't have time to waste. He does job, he gets money. I value my workers."

"Oh, I do too," his voice reminds him of a ball of snakes, writhing together and it makes Butters' stomach churn. "Which is why I'm not sure I can agree with this."

Everything is silent; you could hear a pin drop. Butters tries his best not to look up.

"What makes you say that?" Clyde asks with a threatening boom in his voice. The blonde stiffens at his tone.

"No one has ever heard of you, Mr. Donovan. How do I know my best slave will be properly taken care of?" They don't have the time to discuss this. "After all, a name gets you places."

"I'm a renegade, now what of it? I'm not asking you stupid questions. I have money, give me the whores. I'm done here. Stupid Americans."

"You said they would be ready. Where are they?" Cartman barks

"Keep a muzzle on your dog, Mr. Donovan."

"Keep yours on a shorter leash."

A small laugh is heard; Butters can't believe how Clyde is acting. It's incredible, incredibly terrifying, but to know he can muster that kind of courage right now is reassuring. Cartman is floundering in his wake; perhaps he is supposed to.

"Come in, boys," the master's voice has a slight tune to it. Butters can't ignore the chill that runs down his back. "You're choosing now."

The door opens and Butters looks up; he can't help it.

Craig is ashen and trembling as he has an arm around the smaller man next to him. His head is bowed and he's clutching his stomach as if he's in pain. Blonde hair hangs in dirty tendrils over his face. He keeps his eyes low.

Craig, on the other hand, is staring straight at Clyde.

"Your choice is obvious, my dear," Craig stiffens at his voice, "go to your master."

Craig lets go of the blonde and keeps his eyes on Clyde, slowly limping toward him. The brunette grabs him in an attempt to look tough, yet keeps a gentle hand on him. Craig is trying not to cry.

"42..." there is that sing-song tone. He doesn't move a muscle. "It's time for you to choose. Look up, my love." His eyes remain on the floor.

Butters wants to jump at the man and rip him to shreds.

"42," Clyde says lowly, "this is your choice to make. Take your time."

This was the tactic. Talk to him until he finally has to look up at someone. This was a game, another set of rules to scare him into submission. It wasn't fair.

"Master?" he asks weakly.

"Yes, my love," it's that tone; Butters wants to slice his vocal chords. It gives him false hope; it's the voice that kept him there. Butters just knows this.

"Who am I?"

"Nobody."

"Sire?" He's addressing Clyde now. Butters' eyes widen.

There's no way they can tell him who he is without the master realizing who they are or what they are trying to do.

"Yes," Clyde answers.

"Who am I?"

He is silent for awhile; he ponders the words. Finally he sighs and laughs a little.

"You are more than you know, băiat bun." The master looks at Craig and notices the jerk in 42's movements.

"That's Romanian, not Russian, if I'm correct?"

"It is... it means good boy."

A sniffle is heard. Butters looks back at the blonde and feels sick when he sees his face. No amount of makeup could cover the damage done to it tonight. But what he couldn't stop staring at were his eyes.

He is looking up; except unbeknownst to any of them, he already made his choice long ago.


	11. March 22, 12:39 AM

"How did 40 die?" he asked one night as they lay together. He had his arm wrapped tightly around 41, who burrowed her head in his chest. It was warm; they had each other; her swollen stomach pressed against his and she moaned as the baby kicked within her. He caressed her stomach and felt the kicks on his hand. She laughed; her laugh was beautiful.

"I don't want to think about it." Once she has this child her life is over. They both know this. Since she had been here she had given Master three children. The doctor said she wasn't fit to carry another; this one might not even make it. If Master doesn't kill her then the baby would.

"You always tell me... don't die like 40. What did she do?" 41 let out a shaky whimper and closed her eyes; her hand tightened around his waist; he twirled her brunette locks between his fingers. Comfort. They had each other.

"She was a lot like you, a fighter. She didn't like Master, she never did what she was supposed to until... until they hurt her enough to knock her out. She bit the clients, she stabbed one." He admired her bravery. He could never do that. "So they did to her what she did to them."

He didn't understand; that wasn't a violent death. That was just understandable; they all went through that treatment. If they hurt someone then they would be hurt in return. It's why he his eye was swollen shut.

"They cut her open, aborted her baby...covered her in his blood. The last thing she knew was they were cutting her intestines. They tied her up with them... a-after she died. And they had sex with her one last time."

42's jaw dropped in horror.

"Her body was cut up just like her son's... get rid of the problem, you know?"

He stared down at 41's stomach. She was going to pop any day now; it was difficult for her to even move. Walking wasn't an option anymore.

"Don't die like 40, please?" She whispered, then caressed his cheek. He closed his eyes at the gentleness and felt her hands run through his hair. "Don't let them hurt my baby." Was she talking about her child or him? "I love you," she whispered.

He felt her lips on his; they have had sex before. They found silent comfort with each other, and only then could they truly understand why they did what they were forced to do. Because it felt good; and making others feel good was worth it. At the end of the day, they felt good to each other. There was no pain in their actions; only love.

"I love you too," he replied, his hand rested on her stomach.

"Master loves you," she said, then pressed a kiss to his ear lobe. He shuddered as her teeth grazed his flesh. "I heard him say it. He wants you..."

"I'm nothing like you, I can't prov-"

"Keep my baby safe," she whispered, then captured his lips in another kiss. "Stay safe, do what you're told... be a good boy. Okay?" He nodded, and moaned against her mouth as she wrapped her tiny hand around him.

"I will," she actually smiled against his lip. His cheeks were wet; she was crying.

"My good boy..." she gasped, shuddering as his hand slipped between her legs and pressed just the way she liked it. "You're such a good boy."

They laughed together, bodies writhing and touching one another. They laughed into each others' shoulders and held tight as one body.

Tonight they could be good; they could be whatever they wanted to be.

42 wraps his hand around his stomach. It hurts. He feels like he's going to burst. He's tired; it's difficult to keep his eyes open.

Craig is laying on his stomach in silence. They have been quiet for so long. He hates it. He needs noise; something.

42 is scared. What if he makes the wrong decision? How can this be left to him? He has no control; his life is Master's. He does not have a choice in the matter; he is an object. He is nothing. They can't obviously think he will be stupid enough to fall into this trick.

"Does your foot hurt?" Craig asks; he shakes his head. Not anymore. He can't feel it anymore. His toe is cold and dead in his hands.

The pain in his stomach hasn't disappeared though. He swears he can feel every pulse of blood gush within him. He can taste it now too.

"Are you in pain?" he finally replies. Craig doesn't nod or shake his head. "It's okay, the first time hurts the most." He moans quietly as he slides along the floor to get closer to Craig. He rests his head on his shoulder and lays on his side. "I'm going to die."

"No you're not."

"Look at..." he clutches his stomach, "I'm bleeding out. Master said I would die tonight. No matter what I choose it doesn't matter. I accept it, you know. Just like 41."

"What about 40?"

He shakes his head.

"I don't want to talk about it," he hears her echo from his mouth. "41 knew it was her time. They took her kid... I wanted her. The baby. I was going to take care of her. Just like her mother."

"She had a child?" he nods.

"Three. I don't know where they are. Taken, I suppose. The last one... she was beautiful. She went into labor and no one cared. I... I helped her have the baby. We named her."

"What was her name?" He couldn't imagine they would give her a number; not a child.

"Patience," 42 replies, "she didn't cry much. I wanted her. I wasn't her father. But I wanted her."

"You and 41 were... together?" 42 nods.

"We loved each other. I miss her. I don't talk about her... did she have a name? L-like me? Did she have a name too?" Craig nods. "What was it?"

" Oksana Borsnova, she's from Vladivostok, Russia. She was 19 years old this year."

"Oksana..." he moans and feels tears burn his eyes, "it's beautiful. She's beautiful..." Craig puts an arm over his shoulder. "She isn't 41. She's Oksana." Craig nodded. "And... I'm Kenny?"

"Kenneth is your birth name. But you went by Kenny."

"I'm not..." he touches his stomach. "Kenny McCormick... what was he like?" He, not I. Craig smiles weakly at him. The pain is getting to him; his entire body burns.

"You were from a poor family, you were the poorest kid in school. You really cared for your sister... and oh God, you had the coolest super hero persona ever. Mysterion. Mysterion was like Batman, you know? Just, the bad guys were so scared of him. The good guys looked to him for answers. And that was you. You were Kenny... you did all those things. I mean, you did okay in school and didn't really care much, you had a lot of girl friends. You worked at a strip club... do you remember Jonny? Jonny Bledel? He was your manager. He was going to get you to California to meet a friend to get you into the big clubs... that's how you got here. He tricked you."

"Jonny?" he asks, his eyes widening in recognition. "Jonny is... Jonny was Master's scout. He... he found others. I never lived with them. We only met in transit. They were beautiful. Jonny. I know a Jonny."

Jonny Bledel had been off the radar for two years.

"What happened to him?"

"Master wasn't happy with him. So he killed him. Said I made a mess, I had to clean it up. So I did."

Jonny Bledel is dead. He was the master's main trafficker in America. Right now all he had was from other traders and from his last abduction of slaves. All he had right now was Kenny. Is that why he wanted him? But why would he kill him? Especially if he was his only source of income in Colorado?

Oh shit, Craig thinks. The master was on to them. There was no other explanation. That's why he went against Cartman's orders. He is going to make them all suffer. He's going to try his damn hardest to stop them all. Kill the ground, let it all explode in the aftermath.

Craig watches in disgust as 42 lifts his foot to his mouth and licks at where his toe had been cut off. Clean up the mess he made, right?

"W-was I really a s-super hero?" Craig is taken aback by the question. He sounds so young, looks so young as he cradles his foot; he must be in pain. The raven nods.

"The best," is his answer, "you fought a god from another dimension. You gave people something to believe in," 42 looks at him with wide eyes; he's intrigued, Craig can tell.

"A-and... I have a f-family?" He sounds so scared to ask; his eyes shift to the ceiling. "A sister?"

"Yeah, you have an older brother and younger sister. Kevin and Karen. She's nineteen, she..." he can't bring himself to say it.

"Karen... that's a beautiful name. I bet she's beautiful, she is, isn't she?" he seems to light up as Craig nods, "D-does she know I'm okay?"

"Well, it's not that simple..." Craig fumbles for words. His eyes narrow on Craig as if he knows what he's thinking. What he's about to say.

"What happened to her?" His voice is suddenly sharp; just like Kenny used to sound like when it came to protecting Karen.

"She... she's in the hospital."

"Why?"

"Well, she's a prostitute..." the words sound terrible to his ears. He sees Kenny flinch. "And she tried getting out of a night with this guy. He beat her up pretty bad... she went to the hospital for it. He kept threatening her and finally she just... she attempted suicide. They had her in a medically induced coma for two weeks."

He whimpers.

"D-does she have a daddy? A master too? Maybe I know him. Maybe... maybe I can get Master to-"

"She's on her own. We've... my master has kept an eye on her to make sure she's okay. He just... he didn't do good enough, I guess." His blue eyes are calculating him now. He is analyzing him, observing him. Craig feels like prey.

"My sister's a renegade..." Craig blinks; he's never heard that term before. "she's just like me. Oh God, he hurt her... I hurt her. A-and I didn't even k-know..." Just like when he was younger, he still blames himself for her pain; her actions. Craig shakes his head and wraps an arm around Kenny; he's trembling against him.

"Do you remember her? Or me...? We got taken to Peru for being in a Peruvian flute band to get money. I... I didn't hate you so much. I don't hate you." 42 pulls away from him and gives him a blank stare; it almost makes Craig laugh. His eyes look annoyed, unimpressed.

"Why did you say that?"

"I just..." Craig fumbles again, "say things." He really is awkward. It's why he's a _private_ investigator; he can be alone.

"S-so... my name is Kenny. But... I don't remember. I don't... how do I know you're not trying to trick me?" Craig takes a deep breath and quietly sings; it's his only shot. He head him humming the tune earlier. This has to work.

"_When I'm alone  
>I dream on the horizon<br>and words fail;  
>yes, I know there is no light<br>in a room where the sun is absent,  
>if you are not with me.<br>At the windows  
>show everyone my heart<br>which you set alight;  
>enclose within me<br>the light you  
>encountered on the street..."<em>

Craig sings in a soft voice, gently, and 42 lifts his eyes. He stares in awe at the olive-skinned man in front of him. He knows that song. It's what he falls asleep to every night in his head, or from his broken hums. It sounds beautiful. There are lyrics to it, it's a real song... it's beautiful. He's never heard a song before; or he doesn't remember.

"W-what..." he trails off, "how do you know that?"

"You're a famous singer in Romania. That was your biggest hit. It's the English version, but..." he trails off. What else can he say?

"You're not like me are you?" 42 asks finally; as if this is the question he has been wanting to ask the entire night. "You're not..." he looks down on himself.

"My name is Craig Tucker," he reaches for his denim pants and pulls out a laminated card, "this is my ID. I'm a private investigator, that guy you spent the night with who gave you chocolate? He's a police officer. We're here to rescue you. We're going to take you home tonight if you just trust me. Your name is Kenny McCormick and you're twenty two years old. You've been missing for seven years, been here for seven years.

You worked for Jonny Bledel in a strip club. You worked two jobs when you were fifteen. He told you he'd get you famous... and here you are. Here you've been. All I want is for you to trust me and to know that if you come with me, with us, we'll have you free as soon as you get in that car." He hands Kenny his badge. He flips it over and reads it over and over again. His brow furrows and he shakes his head.

"You'll arrest me, I-I... I'm a whore, I-"

"You're a victim of human trafficking, you've done nothing wrong. You were kidnapped and held prisoner here... you've done your time for no reason. This is your decision. This is your life. We can get you out of here, get you to a hospital, you can live as a free man. You can listen to all the music you want, see your family, you can come home... please?" Craig asks, "please come home?"

42 stares at his hands, stares at the toe the meat of his palm and closes his eyes.

Come home, as if he knows he has a place to stay. A place to live. But the outside world... he's seen it. He'll get swallowed alive. He can't make it on his own. No matter how hard he has tried, he knows deep down he's meant for a life like this. And he's so tired of hurting, and even more tired of the lies. Craig seems genuine.

Out there, in here, everywhere, he knows he is nothing. Despite what Craig tells him; he hasn't been someone for seven years, if what he says is true. Seven years is a long time to suddenly come back. He would be nothing more than a ghost. Maybe he's better off here, or dead. He's too much trouble, too much risk. He can't make it on his own.

He needs a master. He needs someone to tell him what to do and if he's good. He needs to know when he's right or wrong, or good or bad.

The door opens and Craig quickly stuffs his badge in his jeans. 42 bites his lip and lays down on the floor; be submissive, be a good boy. Craig remains in his sitting position, and has his hands folded in his lap.

It makes sense now. He doesn't have his mannerisms. He's a human.

But what surprises him is that Craig, and this other man, have made the effort to rescue him. Craig was raped... for no reason. They should have left it alone; he isn't worth their time. He never has been.

Can he let their efforts go to waste? When he's up there... can he look Master in the eye, knowing Craig was raped in the process of saving him? Can he hurt them like that? Ruin what they must have worked so hard to do?

He feels hands lift him and lets the man drag him up the stairs. He hears Craig tell the other guard to let him walk on his own. He struggles; he needs the help.

As his feet fumble up the stairs, into the light that was blinding, to see Master and this other man who isn't a buyer at all but a police officer... a police officer who is trying to save him. A former friend. He has friends and they have come to save him.

But does he want to be saved?

It's his choice.

How can he choose when he has no voice? How can he choose when he isn't anything more than a slave? He has no voice, not really. It's all about playing the game with them. Even with Craig and his friend the cop... it's a game. See who gets Kenny McCormick to bite first. Taunt him. Tease him. Scare him.

His eyes flicker as he realizes what just occurred.

Kenny McCormick.

He was Kenny McCormick.

He is someone.

Kenny McCormick has a voice.

He's a superhero.

And that's _him_.

His life is in his hands; he stares at them, sees the big toe clutched tight in his grasp. It's cold and stiff. It feels like death. So much of him has died already.

Why can't he just do the same?


	12. March 22, 1:00 AM

Keep your eyes low. Keep your body still. Look pretty. Don't say a word.

He kept his eyes on the floor. He saw five pairs of feet surrounding him.

Craig's choice is obvious. He struggles to walk to his so-called master, who is in reality his friend. They're Craig's friends... his friends? Were they Kenny's friends? He doesn't know. Doesn't remember. But they're here to save him all the same.

"42..." he hears Master's voice. His stomach knots. He clutches his belly as he feels something squelch from inside. It hurt; he bites his lip and silences a whimper of pain. "It's time for you to choose. Look up, my love."

He doesn't move his eyes. He's paralyzed. He can't move; he doesn't know what to do. How is this his decision? How can this be happening? What if he makes the wrong choice? What will Master do if he disobeys him- or obeys him, for that matter? This shouldn't be happening now. Not when he is supposed to die.

"42," he hears an unfamiliar Russian voice, "this is your choice to make. Take your time."

His mind is swirling; he feels nauseous. This can't be happening. He doesn't want to do this; he just wants to die.

No reckless eyeballing. Keep your eyes low. Don't show your fear. They'll know.

But he wasn't scared, not anymore. He was just done. This was when he would roll over and submit defeat. But neither of them were going to let him. Master was going to hurt him for this.

Don't say a word. Don't move a muscle. You have no voice. You have no choice. You think this is up to you? You're nothing. You're worthless. Don't say a thing.

Hush now.

Everything will be okay.

Hush now.

This isn't your cross to bear.

This was just their game. They were waiting for him to finally break his stare, to mess up or make a decision. It was all on him but at the end of the day someone was taking him. He wasn't leaving on his own. Even if Craig said he would be free; he never would be. Not really. Not until he fell into permanent sleep. And he just wants to be free. That's all he wants- his freedom. He just has to be patient.

Patience; his mind flickers to that little baby girl he cradled in his arms. He could hear 41's- Oksana's- quiet, sleepy laugh as he hummed the infant to sleep after her feeding. Patience. He hopes she got out alive. He didn't do as Oksana asked him- he can't make sure she's okay. He closes his eyes and feels them burn.

"Master?" He asks; his voice trembles with emotion. His eyes are still on the ground.

"Yes, my love," his stomach flutters. He sounds so kind.

"Who am I?" He is afraid when he sees Master step forward. But his feet stop; he doesn't want to be hurt anymore. His toe doesn't feel real in his hands.

"Nobody," is the answer he receives. To Master he is nothing. No one. He is just another number, another person to hurt and rape and torture. Another person to twist and corrupt until they don't remember they are more than him. Seven years ago... seven years ago he was someone. Someone extravagant. Someone he can't even comprehend. But he has to be him; Craig knows the song. Craig knows Oksana.

"Sire?" He addresses the Russian now. If he is truly a friend of Craig he'll know how he will answer. He's testing them.

But they have to be careful; Master is already suspicious. There are too many guards in here. He wonders if they know what is happening.

"Yes?" He hears the deep voice; it's unsettling. It doesn't make him feel safe; not like Craig. Not like the man who bought him and hugged him. Not like the pizza man, who called him Kenny McCormick.

The pizza man knows him too. He... he called him by the same name. This can't be a lie; they may have known each other but there is no way they could have worked together to find him. They couldn't have sought him out to plant the idea in his brain that he was someone- when in reality they will use him as nothing more than a glorified sex toy.

"Who am I?"

He is scared to ask. His answer is everything he needs to make his decision. He feels jumpy; his heart is erratic in his chest. His head is swimming. He's sweaty. He wants to run. Suddenly his legs feel restless. The door isn't too far away... maybe... he mentally shakes his head. There are too many guards. But the window... no one is ever by the window.

"You are more than you know, baiat bun."

Baiat bun. He knows what that means. Good boy.

"That's Romanian, not Russian, am I correct?" He hears Master ask. He knows. He knows.

"It is. It means "good boy"."

Good boy. Be a good boy. Don't say a word. Don't move.

Look up. Look into the eyes of your master.

He lifts his head; his shoulders and body convulse as if he is prying his body apart. He stares straight ahead.

Tears burn his eyes and he sniffles; he can't cry. His vision blurs.

Through his peripherals he sees someone else staring at him in shock. Someone with blonde hair.

The pizza man. The pizza man is here with them too.

He's in on this, isn't he?

It was all just a plan to make him think they cared.

"42," he hears Master's laugh. He keeps his eyes locked. "Stop playing games." His body tenses.

"I can say the same to all of you," he says in a quivering voice. "I've made my choice."

He stares out the window, into the darkness. The moon is bright and fat in the sky; it's beautiful and cold. The sky is clear; navy blue and black like the bruises on his skin. He is the night. Cold and desolate. He sees the outline of buildings across from him. Sees the balcony outside of the room.

"Your choice is a window."

"My choice is freedom."

Everyone is silent, he feels their eyes on him as if they have picked their piece of meat to share.

"I am someone. I am more than I know, more than you know. And I am tired. I wear no chains. I wear your scars. They keep me here, not your loyalty. Not your love. And I will not be a prize. I am a human. I just want to be free."

The Russian is silent. They all are. But Master and his guards laugh as if this is the funniest thing they have ever heard. The Russian and his assistant fumble to laugh along with them. They don't want to. He feels Craig's dark eyes on him. And the pizza man's. They know.

"There you are with your ideas again, 42. You will never be free. You come with me and I'll kill you as soon as you get downstairs. You go with them and they'll toss you out. You're rotten. You're worthless. This entire night was worthless."

"SHUT UP!" He screams and closes his eyes. "_SHUT UP_!"

His voice rings in the air. He hears the click of a gun.

"42, I would-"

"Do not call me that, I am not just your inventory. My name is Kenny McCormick. You _stole_ me."

"Sounds like you learned a lot tonight, didn't you?" He freezes. Slowly he glances to Craig; sees the horror in his eyes.

Then he realizes what he has just done.

He's smoked them out.

He gave them away.

He fell right into the game that Master was playing.

"N-no..." he whimpers, the tears finally leak from his eyes. "N-no, I didn't m-mean..."

Master steps forward; he freezes. But he walks right passed him; except not without throwing him to the ground. He yelps and clutches his stomach- feels the burning ache roar through his body.

"Who are you?" Master asks Craig, who remains silent. "Answer me." He remains tight-lipped. "You think I wasn't on to you three? No one has ever heard of Clyde Donovan, except the nurse at Denver General. He looks a lot like you, you know."

The Russian is a nurse. He keeps his eyes on his stomach, sees the large bruise that has taken away the pallid pigment in his skin.

"And you," he presses the gun to Craig's temple, Craig closes his eyes. "I used you as an example. Show your buddies here just what I'll do. But I was nice, I was gentle. Now, tell me who you are."

"We're..." the pizza man finally speaks up. "We're his friends. We just want to take him home. Kenny was my best friend. I miss him. We have the money, we just want to take him home..."

His best friend. The pizza man was his best friend?

He has friends; those are them, right before him. Seven years and here they are. And he's put them in a fight for their lives. He's a terrible friend. He shouldn't have spoken. He knows the rules. He shouldn't have said a word.

"Aww," oh no. He knows that voice. There's going to be blood soon. He clutches his stomach, "you think I haven't seen this before? Families, friends... trying to take my property?"

"You're going to kill him anyway. Why not just save you the mess?"

He is nothing more than a mess. He messed everything up. He sold them out. He closes his eyes; the tears fall.

"Because he is _mine_."

A gunshot is heard. He jumps at the noise, however faint it is. Master has a silencer. No one will hear a thing outside.

He looks up to catch the surprise on Craig's face. His eyes are pained.

No.

Craig's body crumples to the floor.

The man who bought him pulls out his own gun; the pizza man and the nurse are on the ground. The pizza man is pushing against Craig's chest as the nurse has his hands on his wrist.

"If you take one of mine, I take one of yours. That's how this works, isn't it?"

"B-but..." he crawls over to Craig and lets out an agonizing sob as the nurse pulls his hands from him. "B-but Master!" He finally bursts, "w-what if I chose you?"

"Does it matter?"

"You were going to marry me... you were going to make love to me..."

"Oh, my sweet boy, until death do us part." He sees Craig's finger conspicuously tap on his jeans. Three times, repeatedly. There was a rhythm.

He's alive. He wants to smile.

"Keep talking," the nurse whispers to him, "we're getting you out of here."

But he wants the window.

But he wants his friends, or these people, to get out of here alive.

"Master, how will I die?" he asks, looking up at the man he is forced to love. His mind is tormented; he doesn't know whether he loves him or wants to kill him. Maybe it's both.

"Like 40."

He whimpers and shakes his head. Don't die like 40. Don't be like 40.

"Except I'll fuck you while I do it."

"And what if I go with them?"

"I'll kill you anyway."

He wants to die. But not at the hands of his master. Not at the hands of the man who took his childhood, his past, present, and future. Not at the hands of the man who ruined him. He wants to die on his own terms. By himself.

"And none of your _friends_ will be able to say a word," a shiver runs down his spine. "Do you really think they're your friends? That they're not just going to kill you? Or sell you?"

"Why, because that's what you did? Because you lied to me... you and Jonny. You told me I was going to be someone."

"Your faith in me is beautiful. Have you made your choice?"

"I already made my choice. I chose my freedom. And I don't need any of you to get it." Master laughs.

"You're mine, pet. Have you seen what I've done to you? Your brand makes you mine."

"It's just a scar. It's all just scars and bruises. I am someone, and you are not my master. I am my master... this is my life. I'll do whatever I want with it."

"So what's your choice?"

Kenny McCormick sighs. He has no clue who he is. He doesn't remember anything or any of these people. But he is Kenny McCormick. Craig's words run through his mind repeatedly.

"You," he stands up and stumbles to Master. "I know you're going to kill me." He can feel the confusion in the room. He can feel the disappointment. "That's all I want. I want my freedom. Like you said, my body is yours. I don't want my body anymore."

He wraps his arms around Master. Rests his head in his chest, presses a kiss over the fabric of his shirt. Master laughs and runs a hand through his hair as he kisses his arms, his hands, his legs, his feet. He kisses up his legs as he stands up, runs his hands over the back of Master's pants, and looks straight into his master's eyes.

"Holy shit," he hears the man who bought him exclaim when he opens his hand, the one that reached back into his pocket as he touched him from behind. A loving move, a submissive move. There is a blade in his hand; his hand is bleeding from being sliced.

Master laughs and puts his arm on his shoulder.

"You think you can kill me? You think I'm scared of a boy who can hardly lift himself up?"

He just laughs, he actually laughs. It hurts his voice. But he smiles; and as he does tears fall from his eyes. He hasn't smiled in so long. His laugh sounds wrong.

"Who said anything about killing _you_?"

He holds the blade to his neck. He swears he can feel his pulse against the metal. Master doesn't look surprised; he's daring him to slit his throat. He wants to; he is ready to swipe that knife through his neck. But his hand is paralyzed; he can't.

"K-Kenny," he hears the pizza man say, the name doesn't quite register with him. He isn't sure if he likes his name."Do-" his sentence goes interrupted. The doors burst open. Shots are fired. He covers his ears.

His eyes widen in horror as a SWAT team comes running through, guns poised. The guards shoot first. He covers his ears and feels tears stream down his face as he realizes what he has done. He hears muffled screaming.

Craig is taken by a second team. His head hangs limp. Everything is moving so fast. Three guards lay motionless on the ground. The Russian, the pizza man, and the man who bought him are all kneeling on the ground with their hands up. They each have identification on them.

Master's shout pierces through his covered ears. He turns and sees his arm has been shot. He's now thrown against the wall and pinned there.

This is all his fault. Everything is moving too fast and he can't comprehend what is going on. His home has been taken. Everything he knows is being uprooted, Master... Master is in handcuffs.

He realizes the screaming is him. But he can't stop. He's scared; he's terrified. He wants to run but he's paralyzed with fear. This is what Master told him to avoid. The police are going to get him. They are going to put him away. He is a whore. It's his fault. Master will hate him forever. Oh God, what is he supposed to do?

He puts his face on the ground. He lays down and covers his ears. He can't bear to hear the shouts, to see the blood and the bodies of the men who kept him captive. He can't stand to see Master's disappointment- his hatred.

Hands are on him; they touch him like Oksana did after the nights he was broken down to nothing. It's comforting. He smells perfume; it's sweet to his nose. He opens his eyes and expects to see Oksana... but he's met with long black hair and kind brown eyes. He whimpers and holds tighter to his ears; he doesn't want to be arrested. He wants to run. She's going to hurt him.

She smiles; she looks sad. She looks as if she's about to cry.

The three men who were going to buy him are talking to someone in a suit. They're taking notes. His Master isn't in here; none of the police are here any longer either. Everyone is gone.

Why is he still here?

"Kenny..." he hears her muffled voice. She puts her hands on his; he lets her pull them away.

"P-please, I-I.." he shivers and lets out a gasp as something practically bursts in his stomach. A cold sweat coats him. He feels drool around his mouth; he wipes it. His hand is stained with red. The woman's eyes are wide.

"Get the paramedics!" She cries; he covers his ears, "Kenny, Kenny, listen to me... you are safe. You're not in trouble, okay? We found you. You're going to the hospital. You're going to be okay... oh my God," she's shaking. "Kenny, we _found_ you..."

He can't breathe. Everything hurts. There is a pressure on his lungs; he wants to rip them out. Each breath is a wheeze. She's crying.

"I-I'll do anything..." he forces, then groans in pain. Blood gurgles in his throat, "I-I'm sorry..." he coughs, blood spatters on her arm. Tears fall down his face.

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault. It's okay..." she's caressing his arm. He pants and looks into her eyes.

"I made a mess..." he glances at her arm, then all around them. "I-I... Master says..." she shakes her head.

"He is _not_ your Master, you don't belong to anyone. You're free, you hear me? You're free. God, Kenny... you're beautiful." He feels a cough of a laugh escape him. She smiles and holds his hand. He squeezes. She wants to hug him, he can tell.

"I-I'm d-d-disgusting..." he replies, "I'm worthless."

If this is dying then it feels nice. He doesn't hurt anymore. He feels warm; he wonders if he's gone into shock. He's very comfortable. Sleep beckons him.

"No, no, you're not. You are so beautiful. You should see yourself, Kenny."

"W-who are you?" She smiles.

"My name is Wendy, we went to school together, I... I work with the Polaris Project." He whimpers; he can't breathe anymore. Blood sits in his throat. He rests his head on her leg and blinks lazily. "Stay with me, okay, just a little longer- fuck, where are they?!" She yells back to the field agent. Her hand runs through his hair. Like Oksana. He wants to see her again.

Will he see her? She was so good. Look at what he's done.

"Kenny?" He hears Oksana say. "Kenny, Kenny, no, no! Stay awake, stay with me!" He looks up at the sound of her voice. He doesn't see black hair anymore, or brown eyes. But there's a brunette girl next to him, with hazel eyes, smiling down at him. She puts her hand on his cheek. He smiles and fades into the comfort of sleep.

He is free.


	13. March 22, 3:48 PM

"-not what he needs right now, are you fucking kidding me?!"

"Why do you suddenly give a shit? Yesterday Kenny didn't even exist to you. Fuck off, Jew."

"It's not my fault; we all believed he ran away!"

"Guys!" Butters hisses, peeking his head from the hospital room. "Shut _up_!" He glares at Kyle and Eric, who are six inches from ripping each other to pieces.

Tension has been thick all night. Add the fact that they are all now deprived of sleep and there is a hot mess in the hospital.

The news stations aired Stan's quick broadcast; he sent them to stations nationwide. The article and documents were sent to major newspapers worldwide, as well as the local ones in Colorado. It was all they were seeing on the television; they were avoiding looking at the screen on the wall. Their identities were preserved to spare any retaliation. However due to the extensive time and proof they released they were all receiving money and were contacted by the White House.

Which is what Kyle and Cartman are arguing about now.

Butters sighs and closes the door. He turns and smiles weakly at Craig, who is still half out of it but trying his best to pay attention to him.

"So... so we got him out?" Butters nods. The raven-haired man tries to smile but he can't bring himself to. It just seems too difficult.

"Craig... I'm_ so_ sorry," he replies; he's unsure of what to say. The man in front of him had been raped to be nothing more than an example. A scare tactic.

The doctor told them he doesn't have too much damage. They are still running tests to make sure he didn't contract any diseases.

What could be said to Craig? That he's proud of him? That he did a good job?

He can't imagine what he's thinking right now. What he's feeling. He appears empty, haunted.

"It's... it's nothing," is Craig's reply. "Where is he? Did they fix his toe?"

He knows what he's trying to do; he can't focus on what happened to him. Otherwise it will consume him. Instead he's trying to occupy his mind with everything else. Considering there is a lot that Craig doesn't know that distraction isn't going to be so difficult.

"He's stable, he hasn't woken up yet. They had to do a blood transfusion and emergency surgery to stop the bleeding. A lot of hemorrhaging and tears... but they actually did sew his toe back on. They're giving him pain killers; it's going to be difficult to deal with, the pain I mean. How are you holding up?"

"Could be worse," Craig replies weakly. Butters nods; he can tell he's in a lot of pain. He says nothing, just smiles weakly and stares out the door. Kyle is pacing now; Cartman is smirking.

"I don't get how they can just be... normal." The black-haired man shrugs, "after what happened... I mean, you realize what you did? An entire trafficking ring was shut down. You found Kenny, and you got him out of there. But there they are acting as if nothing ever happened."

"It's what you gotta do. Otherwise there's no way you're going to be able to get over it. Can... can we go see him?" Butters shook his head.

"Not yet. No one is allowed up there. He's being monitored and we can't disturb that for another two days." Craig shakes his head.

Butters doesn't get it either; the last thing Kenny needs right now is to be isolated. He needs to be around people, especially people who genuinely love him. The doctors are worried he is a suicide risk. They want to evaluate his mental state so they know what they're dealing with. So far the words "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" have been thrown around as if they are nothing.

But Kenny has no mental state. He has to completely rebuild. Maybe by then he will be able to remember who he is. Butters just has a feeling that kind of mental trauma will take far longer to escape from; he hopes some day he will remember. Kenny will never be back to normal; and it will take a long time for him to have any semblance of normalcy.

It was going to be worth it though. It has to be.

"What about the others?" Craig asks, then grunts in pain as he turns on his side. Butters smiles.

"They found 72 missing people in three hours." Craig closes his eyes and trembles on the bed.

"So it was worth it..." he trails off. The blonde tilts his head.

"What was?"

"Going in... I was just... I was raped. Once. Those seventy two people? They lived through it every day, and at least ten times a day. What I went through means nothing. It hurts... but I should be-"

"God dammit, Craig..." Butters interrupts. "Listen to me. Your rape was not worth it. What you went through is just as traumatic, if not worse. It wasn't what you were used to, as insensitive as that may sound. You were a casualty, one that shouldn't have happened. They used you as an example to try to scare us. They shouldn't have done that. Don't try to convince yourself that you should be grateful, or that it isn't as bad. It is. You're a victim in this, just as much as they-"

"But I don't want to _be_ a victim!" He yells, "I'm an investigator, a private fucking investigator. I took six years of judo and mixed martial arts, I can protect myself. I'm not a victim. I won't be." Butters nods and knows Craig is about to break down. He isn't going to cry but he is so wrecked, in every aspect, that his nerves are running thin. He doesn't want to push him.

"I'm sorry," Butters resigns, "I didn't mean to make it sound like... I'm proud of you, you know? For going in there, for doing what you did, and making Kenny feel safe. I couldn't have done that."

"But you did," is the reply he receives.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Craig just sighs and stares out the window. He feels like their conversation is done for now; he can't push Craig. Too much happened.

The door opens and Kyle sits in the chair across from Butters.

"Can you go talk some sense into him?" Kyle asks; Butters gawks in response. There is no way he and Cartman can be in the same room together; last night doesn't count. They haven't spoken in eight months. "He wants Kenny to go with us to DC, use him for popularity."

"That's... that's just like..." The redhead just gives him a look and shakes his head. Craig huffs in annoyance and presses the button on his morphine drip. He doesn't want to deal with them anymore.

Butters hesitantly stands up and walks out of the room. Cartman is looking at his phone as if he is waiting for an important message or call. The blonde clears his throat, then folds his arms over his chest. This is going to be awkward.

Except it isn't. Because everything Butters thought about Cartman is wrong; just like what they all thought of Kenny. They broke up because Cartman was protecting him. All he knew eight months ago was that Eric said he didn't want him in his life. He was trying to save him from being involved at all. Except here he is, standing in front of Cartman with his arms folded over his chest and a quietly amused smirk on his face.

"So... you want Kenny to go to DC with us?"

"That fucking Jew is wrong, you honestly think I'm thinking about me right now? Do you not remember who's on the third floor?"

And then he realizes what Eric is getting at. His reason is surprisingly unselfish, considering who he is.

They are all being honored for their bravery; even Kyle and Stan. All of them are to receive awards and their moment of fame for decimating a huge human trafficking ring. Their work didn't just stop in America; there are busts occurring all over Eastern Europe right at this very moment.

So if they are being honored for their bravery, why isn't Kenny? Why doesn't he get something for his suffering, for being a victim in a world he was forced into? Everyone who suffered just like him should be up there with them, instead of them, and have their time to speak and be heard. Why can't Kenny share his side of the story? He and the victims who were freed with him, or are still living in their hell, won't be cheered. They won't be seen for their bravery; they should have done something. They should have fought back; they had a choice. They are nothing but whores.

Despite having their freedom, they don't have a voice. They are going to live in a world where their damage is ignored and judged; there is no sympathy for them.

"He won't be well enough to..." he trails off. Personally, he finds himself agreeing with Eric. Why couldn't Kyle see what he was getting at?

"He should. He deserves it more than us. He should get all that stuff, not us." Butters scoffs and stares at him in surprise. "What?"

"You're saying no to money?" As wrong as it is, Butters was a little excited about the cash. He can now have heat in his apartment. He can pay off some of his loans. But taking that money doesn't seem right; it seems like they're using the people just as much as the pimps had.

But Butters is surprised to hear Cartman say no to that cash. He would have thought he would be rejoicing and trying to swim in it by now. Instead, Cartman just looks solemn.

"It doesn't feel right. And we should be able to see him." Butters nods.

Keeping Kenny away from them, from people other than white coats and authorities, seems like a terrible idea. He isn't in a proper frame of mind. He doesn't trust them; for all he knows they could hurt him.

At least Butters imagines that's what he would think. He isn't quite sure. He probably isn't even awake.

Footfalls sound on the sterile floor. Butters and Cartman look up to find Stan and Wendy talking quietly to one another. They are engrossed in their own conversation; they both look ready to pass out from exhaustion. Stan sighs and smiles weakly at them.

"How's Craig?"

"The same as before..." Stan nods and rubs the back of his neck. Wendy steps forward and looks at Butters, then Eric. "And Kenny?"

It sounds weird. It feels weird. Kenny is back in their lives. They rescued him. And now he's in the hospital... he's back. Nothing feels real right now; Butters half expects to wake up from a dream in his frozen apartment with his economics textbook as his pillow. But this is real; he's wide awake.

"His large intestine was severed along with the um... the hemorrhaging. They did a bowel resection and drained the blood. They're... they're going to let Clyde be his nurse. How... how did you find him? I don't understand."

"Does he have to have a colostomy bag?" Wendy rolls her eyes at Cartman's question. The look on his face indicates it was meant to be a joke. "I had a prostitution case about ten months ago. I thought I saw him, so... this is where it led me." She nods and smiles a little. "Do we really have to wait three days to see him?" Wendy sighs.

"Yes, he needs a proper evaluation. He'll be fine. Clyde will be with him."

"But it's his birthday..." Butters trails off; Wendy just looks worn down. She and Stan have both probably been deflecting media and trying to figure out what to do next. Or if there is anything left to do.

He just doesn't feel like it's fair to have Kenny be on his own. That seems like the worst idea, actually. How can he be properly evaluated in isolation? And what is going to happen if he fails? Are they going to put him in a long-term facility? That's the last thing he needs.

Butters knows that Kenny will find his way out either way. Whether or not he's in his right mind he will slip through the cracks. With the mind of a slave he won't want to be a burden; too many others need the care. He isn't worth it. It doesn't matter if he makes it or not. With his right mind? He doesn't need the help. He'll be fine on his own, thanks.

"What's the verdict with Craig?" Stan asks, "I mean, they're not just..."

"He said he doesn't want counseling or therapy. The only reason he's still here is because he was shot..." Butters trails off, "he needs help."

"He's Craig," Cartman mumbles, "he's not going to ask for it. We'll probably never see him again." The blonde doesn't believe that for a second; he'll be around still. After all, Kenny and Craig had been friends. He's going to want to stick close and make sure he's okay.

They stand in silence, staring down the hallway. Wendy finally straightens up, nudges Stan, and murmurs that she wants to see Craig. If he's awake she wants to talk to him. He smiles, catches Butters eye, then glances at Eric. He rolls his eyes in response and leans on the wall.

"So what are your plans after this all blows over?"

"I'm gonna try to join the force again." Butters nods, "you?"

"Just... go back to normal, I guess..." he replies with a shrug. What else can he do? He needs the pizza delivery job until he graduates. And even then finding a job will be difficult; especially since he has virtually no experience working in a business office. "Is this... was this case the reason you... pushed me away?"

"I didn't want you hurt."

Butters sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair. He swallows back the nervousness in his stomach and finally looks up at Cartman.

"Well, I got involved anyway... you planned it, didn't you?" Eric nods hesitantly. "So no matter what... I was still just a pawn in the game, right? You always meant to have me involved. I just couldn't get in your way."

"That's not... God _damn_ it, Butters. I didn't think you'd actually go with last night. I didn't want you fucking dying. Jesus... you had a right to know. I let you in. I just didn't think it would end up this way."

"Everything got fucked up, didn't it?" Cartman sighs heavily and folds his arms.

"Yeah. It did."

They're silent, mulling over the words spoken between them. Then, Butters cracks a soft smile.

"Can you imagine what Kenny would think if he knew we dated?" Eric stares at him for a brief moment before he busts out in near-hysterical laughter. The blonde can't help but chuckle along with him. It's kind of nice, really. It seems as if the tension between them dissipated with their laughter.

"He would probably be horrified," Cartman replies with an amused smirk on his face.

"That or he'd say, 'I knew it!'" They both smile at their imaginations.

"Probably both," Butters nods and sighs as he stares down the hallway. It's quiet. And he can't help but think this isn't so bad. He figures he even owes Eric a bit of an apology, or at least a "thank you". But he knows he doesn't need to say it. Cartman won't want to hear it. Not for this.

"Probably."

Their laughter dies and Butters sighs softly. He isn't sure what is left to be said or done, if anything. He feels like saying anything else would be pointless.

Cartman clears his throat and pulls out a cigarette. He nods to Butters, then walks away.

"Hey, Eric?" Butters calls; he isn't too far away, his voice barely carries. The brunette man turns around with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. "I think... I think he'd be happy for us."

His features soften and he appears contemplative for a brief moment in time. Then the man ahead of him lets out a sad, quiet laugh and grimaces slightly.

"Yeah..." he mumbles, then turns around. "I'm sure he would've been."

At that Eric disappears, leaving Butters on his own in the hallway. He stares at where Eric had just been. His smile fades as his eyes settle on Craig's room. His family is in there, as are Kyle, Stan, and Wendy. There are simply too many people. He isn't needed there.

Slowly he glances up at the ceiling; a sinking feeling settles in his chest.

Kenny's alone.

At this thought, he walks away from Craig's room. He stops at the elevator and sighs heavily as he hesitates to press the button. Up would take him to Kenny, down would take him home. He isn't sure what to do.

Thankfully, he isn't the one to make the decision. A man reaches over his and presses the "up" arrow, then boards the elevator. Butters follows suit and wraps his arms around himself as he approaches the third floor.


	14. March 22, 4:00 PM

Kenny spat out a mouthful of blood and bit down on his arm as he was slammed into the concrete wall. He gasped as Master broke a bottle over his head. The glass fragments fell in his hair, sliced his bare shoulders and back. The slight pokes and cuts felt soft compared to the violence his body has endured.

With his blood, he spat out a tooth. It lay on the ground with the shattered glass. It's not the first one. He moans weakly and felt the jagged bottle against his neck.

"What did I tell you, whore?" Master growled, then his teeth clamped down on his ear. He heard something crunch.

"Fuck off," Kenny hissed; his eyes widened as a hand squeezed around his neck. Master's fingernails dug in his flesh; oh God it hurt. Everything hurt.

He grunted in pain as he was pinned to the wall. The cement was cold against his chest; yet it felt like heaven on his swollen cheek. His eyes burned and he let out a quiet whimper.

"P-please don't..." he managed to say. Blood trickled out of his mouth.

Kenny bit down on his hand as Master sliced the back of his thigh. It was a deep cut, he can feel it burn.

Oh God what is he going to do?

"Fuck it," Master growled into his ear, "stick your fucking dick in there, you know you want to..." Kenny shook his head and swallowed down the acrid nausea bubblign up from his stomach.

Master grabbed him anyway, gives him a few hard yanks; he was completely flaccid. And in once sudden movement the bottle was around him, stabbing into his pelvis and scraping the sensitive skin. He knew not to scream; Master would continue.

He did anyway; the sharp edges of the glass pierced into the skin and opened the scars from his castration. He closed his eyes, swallowed the blood and vomit, and bit down harder on his arm. Eventually the stroking stopped; blood dripped down his leg and he had gone numb some time ago.

Master's fingers spread him. There was no lubricant; it was an uncomfortable burn that made his insides squirm. His nails scraped him from the inside; a gasp of disgust escaped his throat that was mistaken for pleasure. He was frozen with fear, paralyzed. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't fight back, he learned this long ago.

Two fingers turned to three, and three to four. Oh God, he wasn't going to stick his whole hand in, was he? He couldn't...

The glint of the bottle caught his eye as Master lifted it.

Oh God.

"M-Master, please... d-don't..." he whimpered, "I-I..." he couldn't finish his sentence. He had no words to defend himself. He wouldn't do anything. He would take it like a good boy. It was his punishment, wasn't it? Even though he did nothing wrong he didn't deserve that.

Kenny's body jerked away from Master as much as humanly possibly; yet he was pinned to the wall. There was no escape. The bottle ripped through his rectum, his flesh was ribbons. It hurt too much to scream. He was paralyzed with utmost pain, and felt the razor sharp teeth of the glass tear and cut his insides. Pulling out was worse. He saw white as the bottle was shoved back in; the bottle was soaked and moved easier. Liquid dribbled down the back of his thighs in a crimson puddle on the cement floor.

"I told you I'd fuck you so hard you'd shit blood," Master whispered hotly in his ear. He couldn't make a sound. He swore his insides squelched and tugged with every move of the bottle. He swore he could hear the glass creak and squeak against him.

Master pulled the bottle out by the neck and laughed as he put it against his face. Kenny's eyes were already closed. He can smell the blood as it's wiped on his face, over his lips. The bottle is hot.

His legs gave out long ago; he lay on the floor, legs spread in a puddle of his blood. He'll have to clean it later. He can't even move. It hurts, oh God it hurts everywhere.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Kenny feebly nodded; one simple motion was enough to cause his body to seize in pain. A blood clot passed through him and ran down between his legs.

His body was a ruin.

Scarred and tattered for people to laugh at. To humiliate him. He was disgusting. He would never look at himself again.

"Would you like anything?" he gasps at Master's question.

To get out of here. To go to the hospital, at the very least.

"W-water..." he mumbled as a shiver ran through him. His legs were slick against each other. "I-I'm thirsty... p-p-please?"

Master laughed and walked up the stairs; he left Kenny a broken mess on the floor. He returned without a glass or... bottle... of water.

"Open your mouth." He cracked an eye open and barely unhinged his jaw, "good boy."

His eyes roll in the back of his head as he heard Master undo his pants.

"N-n-" Kenny moaned, then fought back the urge to vomit as Master pissed on his face, in his mouth.

"You said you were thirsty," Master chides, "drink up, pet..."

He chokes on the water. It dribbles down his chin and he coughs; the contraction of his muscles causes his upper body to ache. He hurts everywhere.

Everything is white. A beeping noise infiltrates his ears. The room smells like a bitter pill. His skin crawls.

He doesn't belong here. He doesn't need the tubes in his arms or the medicine in his veins. He deserves his wounds... doesn't he? He deserves to hurt. Oh God. Master. What happened to Master? Where is he? What's going to happen to both of them?

He tries to pull the blankets off and run out of his bed but his body succumbs to the soreness from his stomach. He lets out a quiet whimper and lays back.

"Mr. McCormick? Is everything okay?"

Who is that? He doesn't know that voice. He doesn't trust them. Where is he? What do they have in his body? What are they going to do to him?

"M-Master..." it wasn't all a bad dream after all. He isn't in the basement. He's in a hospital room.

Oh God, he's going to get arrested. The police are going to lock him away.

"Honey, I'm your nurse. My name is Rose, do you mind if I take your temperature?" he flinches as she pulls out an instrument. It looks like what one of the guards used to fuck him. That had electrocuted him, though.

He shakes his head. He doesn't want to be touched. But she takes his motion as a 'go ahead'. Tears fill his eyes as she puts the thermometer in his ear. A low whimper rips from his throat, followed by a beep moments later.

"It's gone down somewhat, oh, what's wrong, dear? Are you in any pain?" Everything. Yes.

"Please don't hurt me...?" Is all he can say, "please... please... I don't want to be arrested. I-I... where's Master?"

"You're not going to be arrested, Kenneth. I promise you're safe. You don't have a master, okay? H-here, I'll be right back..."

He wants her to go. He doesn't like her.

As soon as she leaves his room he picks at the IV in his hand. It's pumping something into him. They're drugging him.

His arms are like jelly; he barely has the strength to wrap his fingers around the small tube. He grimaces as he feels a tug in his vein.

"Kenneth?" He looks up and whimpers when he sees a man in a white coat.

Oh God, the doctor. The doctor who disfigured him and cut him and experimented drugs and... he curls up despite the pain in his abdomen and shakes his head.

"Don't touch me, g-go away."

"I'm Dr. Weston, I'm a trauma psychologist and I'm here to help you. You're in a hospital, I will not hurt you, or even touch you. I'll sit here." He pulls the chair away from the bed and sits down.

"I don't need help."

"If I may, you are suffering from seven years of trauma from human trafficking. Your captor manipulated you, do you remember who you are?" He feebly shakes his head. "Your memories are repressed, but they're there. I want to help you remember. I want to help you overcome what you have gone through."

"M-Master... I need Master..." he whimpers, "he's going to blame me. I got him in trouble, I didn't mean to. I need to see him. I need to tell him I'm sorry..."

"By "master", you are referring to your captor, correct?" Kenny just stares at him. "He's been arrested, maximum security. Did you know that there were seventy-two people rescued because your friends found you?" His eyes widen, "Kenneth, what you went through, and what they went through, is terrible. But it is in no way your fault. You realize that you're a hero, right? You saved so many from death and abuse they didn't deserve. You got out too, and you didn't deserve it."

A hero. He's a hero. He saved them. He... Craig was right. He is a hero. He needs to tell Craig.

Craig told him the truth after all. His heart sinks as he remembers his doubt. His accusations.

"Craig..." he whines and clutches the pillow. It's soft, like his shirt was.

He realizes he's warm and comfortable. There is no ache in his bones. Despite the pain in his stomach and foot he actually feels well rested. He isn't shivering. Maybe this is actually a hospital, maybe they're actually taking care of him.

"Craig Tucker?" Kenny nods.

"I need him, I need to see him, please?" The doctor sighs.

"I can't let you do that, I'm afraid... is it okay if I ask you some questions?"

Kenny's eyes burn.

Craig was shot.

He can't see Craig. Why not? What happened to him? Why is there no one here? What happened to his friends? Why can't he see Craig?

Craig died.

A low sob tears from his throat and he buries his head in the pillow. He isn't afraid to cry anymore. Master won't hurt him.

He just wants to be alone.

"Craig..." he hugs the pillow and his shoulders quake violently as he weeps.

He is no hero. Everyone got in trouble. He gave them up, he accidentally told Master it was all a ruse. Craig died because of him. Master was arrested. His friends are gone. He doesn't know who he is, he doesn't know where he's from, or how to find his family. Despite the doctor in the room, he is alone after all.

It's too much. He can't comprehend this. Yesterday was a normal day. Yesterday turned his world upside down. Nothing is the same.

Now more than ever he is no one. At least with Master he knew who he was supposed to be.

Now he isn't 42. Now he's Kenny McCormick, who is a sex slave. Now he's a man who was taken as a boy from everything he ever knew. And now here he is, unable to pick up the pieces because some mental block is keeping him from remembering anything about his past.

All he knows is that basement. All he knows is fat grubby hands touching him, hurting him.

"No, you misunderstood, Kenneth. Craig's no-"

"GO AWAY!" he screams. His body tenses. "Leave me alone!"

He has no one.

He is no one.

An agonizing wail is muffled in the pillow. Seven years of pain soaks the cotton cover. Seven years of silence rips from his throat in mournful screams and cries.

Master was right; he is Nobody. Nothing.

He's worthless, useless. The scrap of a man left in shreds. He has no pride or dignity.

"Kenny?"

The door creaks open and he peeks an eye up from the pillow. It's his good eye, the only one he can actually see from.

Blonde hair and a kind, sad smile meets his vision. The pizza man.

He whimpers and holds tighter to the pillow.

At least he made it out alive. He wants Craig.

"Kenny, I'm not supposed to be here... you're in intensive care and they want to watch you over three days. But... today's your birthday. You can't be alone."

His birthday. He is alive. This is the day he was brought to the world to be nothing. And Craig dies on the very same day. It's not fair.

"I-I-I'm s-so-sorry," his words hitch with his hiccuping wails. The pizza man sits down next to him.

"Don't be sorry, none of this is your fault. You're okay, you're safe. God, Kenny... you're right here. I'm so happy to see you." Kenny sees his arms move. He wants to do something... hug him?

"I... I killed Craig. Master's in prison. I'm nothing... this is my fault. I want to wake up... I want to die..." The pizza man wants to take his hand but keeps them on the armrests.

"Craig isn't dead, he's downstairs. He's okay, but... oh, hell, Ken, we aren't allowed to see you yet is all."

Tears fall from his eyes for a different reason now. A gasp escapes him and he wants to laugh, he wants to smile. Craig is alive.

What happened to him is still his fault. But at least he can now say sorry.

"He... the doctor said..."

"Hush now, Craig is okay. Everything is okay. You're both safe..." Kenny looks up at the blonde before him. He wants to know who he is. How does he remember him... after seven years? Kenny wants to know everything. He's his best friend, he said. And he doesn't even know his name.

"W-who are you?" The man's smile fades.

"My name is Leopold Stotch, but everyone calls me Butters." Butters. Why Butters? Is it because of his blonde hair? "We've been best friends since we were ten. You went to Hawaii with me to get me better, and here I am... I'm going to help you get better."

Hawaii. He went to Hawaii? Why doesn't he remember anything?

He slams his hand against his head. Butters starts to move toward him, and glances around worriedly.

"I want to remember..." he tugs at his hair now. "I don't even know who I am..." he flinches as he feels a hand on his shoulder. Butters is beside him now.

"You will, I promise. I'll help you. It's okay. Do you... do you remember anything about when you were younger?" Kenny shakes his head.

"I know a song... Craig says I was a famous singer in Romania. Am I from there?"

"No, you're from here."

"And where's that?" The shock is evident on Butters' face. He doesn't even know where he's at.

"Colorado. We're in Denver now. You're from a small town called South Park, just south of here."

"That makes sense," Butters chuckles at the cheeky response. Kenny is surprised at that, and covers his mouth.

"No, no, it was funny... you always had a sarcastic sense of humor." Oh, so that's a good thing.

"Craig says I have a family. A mom, a dad, a brother and sister. Where are they?"

"They will be coming in three days. Your brother Kevin won't be with them, he's in the army. He's been told you're home though, and I think he'll be able to have a short leave." Kenny nods. So he isn't alone. His family knows he's okay.

"The doctor said I'm a hero." Butters nods and smiles, "and Craig... Craig said I was a super hero. Like Batman." Butters grins; he wants to smile with him. His lips twitch. He tries.

"You always liked Batman, at least you remember that." He remembers something. "Yeah, you were. You were Mysterion, this vigilante who watched over South Park. Your power was that you were immortal. You're unstoppable."

"Am I?" Kenny asks, looking down at his hand. His heart pounds in his chest; he wants to die...

Butters shakes his head.

"That's the stuff of childhood. You eventually grew out of it, gave us a few scares though."

"I'm sorry..." Butters sighs.

"Stop that."

"I'm s-" he refrains from finishing his sentence. All he knows how to do is apologize for what he does wrong. He's so wrong. The blonde man just smiles and ruffles his hair. He doesn't like that. But at the same time it feels good. When he pulls his hand away Kenny wants to tell him to keep it there. "What's going to happen to me?" Butters sighs heavily. His smile fades.

"It depends... you're stability is being evaluated. You may be in a long-term facility until you're able to function properly... a lot has changed in seven years and you... you're a free person. You always have been. You just have to realize that."

"Th-they're gonna put me away?!" Kenny's eyes widen in fear.

He sees the realization on Butters' face. He shouldn't have said that.

"Oh G-God... please don't let them, I'm... I can't... I'm good, I'll..."

"Shh," Butters hushes him. "You are good, you're not in trouble. It's to help you, if you need it. If they feel you're stable enough you'll go home. To your parents house or... maybe to live with your sister."

"But she's like me, what if..." Butters sighs heavily.

"Then you can live with me, or Craig. We'll figure it out. No matter where you go or what you do, you will be safe, okay? I promise you that." Kenny nods, then plays with the blanket. It's soft in his hands; he really likes soft things. For some reason it really makes him want to hold a cat.

"Do you like pizza?" Butters bursts out laughing at his question, "I liked your pizza, the crust was good. It smelled good."

"I'll make you as much pizza as you want then." His lips pull up at that. He's smiling. He's actually smiling. Kenny sees Butters' lip tremble.

"You promise?" The lighter blonde chuckles and nods.

"I'll bring you some in three days, okay? I need to go now. Your favorite's still Hawaiian, right?" Kenny shrugs. "Kenny McCormick, I love you. And I want you to know that you are not alone. You have so many people back home who are preparing for your arrival. You have us here, waiting to see you. All of your old friends... we're here for you. You are not alone. Remember that."

"Thank you..."

The words squeeze his heart painfully. The door shuts and Kenny clutches the pillow again. This time his tears are happy.

He's a hero. He is someone.

He has friends, family... he's a super hero. He's a famous singer.

He is more than he knows...

_"42 means the life, the universe, and everything..._" he hears Craig's voice echo in his mind.

He is everything. He has a purpose. A reason.

Tears fall as he smiles once more.

He's Kenny McCormick.

He may not remember who he is or what he has done. But he is someone. And that's all that matters.


	15. March 25, 5:17 PM

"I can't believe she didn't come," Kyle hisses to Stan as he parks his car in the parking lot. Stan gives a solemn nod.

The reunion with Kenny's parents had been heartwarming, for the most part. He didn't recognize them, or even remember them. But he let his mother hold him tight and told her he loved her. His father apologized, said he would have done something... everyone would have, had they known. But what's done is done and no one can change anything. What matters is that Kenny is safe and finally home.

It was determined that he would recuperate within the hospital. By the time his physical health came round, the doctors presumed his mental health would as well. He has already started physical therapy; and the doctors were pleased to announce that he had started gaining weight. Hormone therapy wouldn't change anything for him; he would always be stuck halfway between puberty, at a small 5'5" with boyish features.

He wasn't so pale, either. Rather, after three days time he appeared warm. Alive. It was refreshing to see and hear him sound more like his old self. Of course, he was still frightened by the slightest things. He still feared Master will come get him; but he realized now that he wasn't wrong. That was a huge step. The most important thing was he was smiling, laughing. To everyone, his laugh was the best sound they could hear. It was as they remembered it, completely blissful. Even a soul tormented by years of abuse could still find a way to laugh; that was amazing. Heroic.

"She's probably scared," the raven replies, shutting the passenger door. Kyle sighs and and has to agree with them.

Karen McCormick is probably terrified to hear her brother ended up in such a situation. That they lead similar lives, and it hadn't been his choice. She made her choices and she now suffers the consequences. The scars on he arms bear her strife, much like the scars on her brother.

But to see him after all these years, and to say that they are the same? No, they aren't. Karen is a prostitute. He is- was- a slave. It has never been his choice. He was taken from his family. She left.

They all knew what Kenny wanted for Karen; she had the grades to go to college- a four-year university. She had the determination. But losing Kenny made her lose her way.

Stan and Kyle both hope that having him back will allow her to find it again.

They enter the complex and walk up the flights of stairs. Kyle has half a mind to scream at her; Kenny had been so excited to see his sister. Even if he didn't remember her, he wanted so badly to see her. In fact, Kenny had hoped it would jog some of his memories. His mother's perfume was familiar to him; he held her tighter after that.

But Karen hadn't shown, and Kyle is now determined to guilt trip her to the hospital. Kenny is disappointed, he's not hurt, but he told them all he is sorry and he hopes she isn't ashamed of him. His mom held him close to her chest and shook her head as she cried silent tears of joy and grief. Stuart's hand remained on her shoulder, and on his son's, the entire time.

They know Karen is unstable. Hell, they both have a key to her apartment, same as Butters, to check on her to make sure she's okay. She keeps to her room most of the time, doesn't eat much. Doesn't do much. She's lost.

So being scared is understandable, although both Stan and Kyle thought she would have run all the way to the hospital as soon as she heard Kenny was safe. She didn't say anything.

"How would you feel?" Stan asked, "I... I couldn't imagine what to think if this happened to Shelley."

"I'd wanna kill them... if they ever got to Ike." They thank their lucky stars it hadn't happened to them.

Kyle knocks on the door to her apartment. There is no sound from her home. He knocks again.

They wait.

And wait.

Finally Stan grabs out his keys and fumbles to unlock her door. The lock clicks, and they enter her apartment.

There are no lights on, yet her car is in the lot. Except, there is a glow from beneath her bedroom door. Kyle sighs heavily and opens his mouth to speak yet Stan holds his finger up to hush him.

_"Quando sono solo e sogno all'orizzonte_  
><em>e mancan le parole<em>  
><em>si lo so che non c'è luce<em>  
><em>in una stanza quando manca il sole<em>  
><em>se non ci sei tu con me, con me<em>  
><em>su le finestre<em>  
><em>mostra a tutti il mio cuore<em>  
><em>che hai acceso chiudi, dentro me<em>  
><em>la luce che hai incontrato per strada<em>

_Con te partirò paesi che non ho mai_  
><em>veduto e vissuto con te<em>  
><em>adesso si li vivrò<em>  
><em>Con te partirò su navi per mari<em>  
><em>che io lo so no, no, non esistono più<em>  
><em>con te io li vivrò..."<em>

They hear the muffled lyrics from the CD Karen is listening to. That's Kenny's, from when he was eight and went to Romania. Stan smiles a little at Kyle, who rolls his eyes. Nerves, probably. After seven years what could she say? How was she supposed to fee-

"Oh my God!" Kyle gasps and turns his head away as Stan opens her door.

His eyes widen as he stares at the girl before him.

Her body is still, her face red and eyes bloodshot as they stare vacant, right at him.

She's hanging from the ceiling.

Her blood had dried in ravines that ran down her arms, to the floor.

The smell of death hovers around them, decay has already begun. She has been gone for awhile. How long?

"_No_..." Stan whimpers, covering his mouth. He can't tear his eyes away from her gaze. "No, _Karen_..."

The song is on repeat.

She died listening to the voice of her brother, in his better days. His best days. He is forever a child to her. Forever her hero.

Stan steps forward, then back; he isn't sure what to do. Kyle is shaking next to him as he grabs his phone to call an ambulance.

The black-haired man runs to the bathroom. He doesn't make it; he throws up in his mouth. The vomit spills into his cupped hands and he can't stop the tears.

Karen McCormick is dead.

Killed herself.

For what?

"...I'm calling to report a suicide..."

Stan drowns out Kyle's voice as he walks out of the bathroom. The acidic taste lingers in his mouth but he doesn't care. Karen is in the next room over hanging on a fucking noose and-

He stops himself. Her eyes stared straight into his. He can still feel her desperation.

His eyes settle on an envelope on the couch. He reaches for it and reads the name. Kenny.

The date? March 21.

"328 Lexinton Avenue... Apartment 43."

"43..." Stan trails off, his anger rising.

She's been dead for four days.

His hand slams into the wall. Kyle jumps in surprise but says nothing. He reaches out and tugs him back, then looks at his hand.

"Thank you," he hangs up the phone and shakes his head as he looks at the reddening skin. "Stan..."

"Apartment 43... Ky," he chokes, "42, 43... it's all just the fucking..." a sob tears from his throat. Kyle blinks back his own tears and pulls Stan close. He feels him clutch the back of his shirt.

Kenny is going to blame himself. Just as he's always done.

It's all relative. It's all the master's fault. But Karen is just more blood on his hands, and what does it matter if they're stained?

They're just numbers, the tally for who he has tortured and killed. 43 people, Craig included.

43 people.

43 innocents. Taken from their lives, everything about them destroyed, only to die with the idea that they're just another number. Just another splatter of blood to wash away.

And here is Karen, untouched by him, but affected no less. Her life was destroyed by the absence of her brother. She lost her way.

And Kenny's home.

Stan sobs loudly into Kyle's shoulder. He hears Kyle's own hitched gasps and tightens his grip around him.

And they were affected too.

Just more numbers to add to the casualties. 44, 45... the list goes on.


	16. April 8, 6:22 PM

Kenny stares at his hands. He's missing his ring finger, and half of his pinky. His skin is dry; he runs his hands over his flesh and squeezes his eyes shut. Tears fall from his eyes, onto his hands. His mind reels, his heart aches.

He can't cope with this.

What is he supposed to do?

How can he come to terms with what has happened to him when he's half convinced it was the right thing to do? They say it was wrong, but for seven years, seven fucking years it's all he knew. It was what he was supposed to do. They say it isn't his fault... but he can't help but wonder if he got himself in the mess in the first place.

And now his sister is dead. Now his baby sister who he cared for more than anyone else in the world, but can't fucking remember, has killed herself because of him. Because he left her. Because he hadn't been there for her when she needed him the most.

He cries for what he has lost. The time, the connection, his memories... his sister.

Seven years of being there with his friends and family is lost.

All of his memories are virtually gone from his mind.

He cries for what could have been, should have been, rather than what was and is.

His sister's blood is on his hands... and he doesn't even remember her face. Her voice. Her laugh...

He doesn't remember _her_. And that's what hurts the most. How can he grieve when he doesn't know who he's supposed to be grieving for?

Kenny doesn't want to be here anymore. The hospital is cold and uninviting. It feels like the basement. He is trapped, constantly watched and observed, they poke him and prod him... make him do things he doesn't want to do... it's all the same to him. He just wants to sleep, wants to be warm, but the doctor suggests otherwise, and here he is, sitting in physical therapy to try to regain the strength he isn't quite sure he ever had.

He was just fifteen when he was taken away.

He didn't have the chance to grow.

He's stuck, frozen in a teenage boy's body, as a young man, ha. Hardly even that.

This is his day everyday. Wake up, eat, physical therapy, sleep, eat, physical therapy, sleep, eat, cry, sleep.

No one has had much time to visit him. They've been busy with press and awards and figuring things out. And here he is... back in their lives and no one knows what to do with him. Maybe he would be better off with Master. He'd be dead. He'd be with Karen... and Oksana. Everything would be better.

His breath hitches and tears drip from his eyes. God, he's so fucking tired of crying.

He rubs at his eyes and the physical therapist lets go of his leg. He tucks his head in his hands and shudders as he sobs.

Master. Why the hell does he miss him?

What he did to him is awful, unforgivable. He lived in hell for seven years. He took him away from everything and everyone he ever knew and cared about. But maybe Master is right. Maybe no one will be able to love him, after all. Considering he is nothing more than a burden, he could believe that. He doesn't want to bother anyone. He wants to die. But if he tells anyone that they'll put him away even longer.

He just wants out of here. He wants to be free. Seven years is long enough.

"Why don't..." his physical therapist trails off, "why don't we call it a day, huh?" Kenny nods and grunts in pain as he slides off of the bench. He clutches his stomach and limps out of the room, to his hospital room, where he'll stomach about three bites of soup and request some medicine to make him sleep. He can't sleep otherwise. Falling asleep is almost and possible and if he falls asleep then the nightmares wake him and leave him in paralyzed terror. The doctors and nurses are used to giving him medicine so that he didn't wake up the other patients, or wet the bed. So he isn't an inconvenience.

Hush up the problem and everything will be just fine.

And none of the other patients talk to him. He doesn't try, he doesn't want to. He doesn't want attachments; as soon as he gets out of here he's going to be free. Nothing and no one can stop him. He can't live like this, he can't be dependent on everyone he knows. He's just a burden. They will be better off without him. At least they'll have their closure.

He doesn't deserve closure. Closure over what? Being stuck in a human trafficking ring and tortured for seven years, all the while having Stockholm Syndrome and being in love with his captor? No. There is no closure for that. He knows he's a lost cause. He just feels bad for the doctors who are wasting their time and money on him. He feels bad for whoever has to pay his hospital bills.

Kenny opens the door to his room and turns on the light.

He covers his mouth as he screams and falls to the floor when seeing someone sitting in the chair by his bed. He howls in pain, he scrambles to adjust himself in a position that doesn't hurt, and he starts to cry- for a different reason now. Now he's feeling seven years of rape. It feels as if his insides have been torn apart; they are.

"Hey, hey..." he hears the voice he recognizes and swallows air. Kenny wipes his eyes and trembles as Craig bends down next to him. He sees him wince and clutch his chest.

Kenny remembered Craig had been released a week ago. He hasn't been by to see him at all.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I kinda dozed..." Kenny nods and reaches for the bed, then takes a deep breath of preparation to stand. Craig offers his hand; he doesn't take it. He doesn't want to be touched. It's difficult enough having his physical therapist's hands on him.

"It's fine..." he trails off, then winces as he sits on the bed. He turns on his side and lays down; his eyes are still on Craig. "Why are you here?"

Craig looks surprised at the question; perhaps it's the tone. He sits down on the chair, and coughs quietly.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," is Craig's reply. Kenny closes his eyes, "and I wanted to tell you I don't blame you for what happened. I know you feel like it's your fault."

"I-it is!" Kenny gasps, then buries his head in his pillow, "everything is my fault... you... me... Karen... it's all because of-"

"No, it's not. It's the opposite, okay? Just..." he feels a hand on his shoulder, "don't worry about it, I can't... I'm sorry. I don't really know what to say."

"I-I just... my sister killed herself because of me. And my family and friends are here... I don't remember them. I don't... where is my _mind_?!" He yells into his pillow.

"Hey," he hears Craig's voice, then feels a hand on his shoulder. He flinches and trembles. "Hey, it's okay, it's-"

"No, it's not!" Kenny cries, his voice breaks. "I-it's not... I... I shouldn't have gone through this! I should remember, y'know if I had, she wouldn't have died? I would have been there... a-and I don't even know what my fucking sister _looked_ like!" he punches his pillow now, and grunts in anger and a little pain, "I should have been there! For _everything_... I didn't graduate school, I-I could have been someone. I could be in college... o-or have a job... I could have a family. But he took everything I have. My life, my past, my future... my sister. I'm _nothing_, Craig. He always said that. He made me nothing... just a number. 41... 42... 43..." his eyes settle on Craig finally, in defeat. He's tired. He aches. All he wants is to understand and remember.

Craig isn't sure what to say. He gazes at Kenny in disbelief. The fact he can just say all of that amazes him. It's only been two weeks and he knows what happened is wrong. He is showing his grief and anger, he's coping. He's grieving, and able to realize that what happened to him isn't right. Two weeks ago Kenny would be curled up saying he deserved it. Now, he's angry... he doesn't understand how someone could do this to him. And that's so much better than where he has been.

There is nothing he can say that will make Kenny feel better. Words escape him and he just looks at the blonde, panting and rigid with fury he can't help, and he's proud. He's sorry, he wants to change things, but he can't. That's the thing. They can't go back and have a do-over. So for what it's worth, how far he has come is amazing.

In two weeks Craig has been nothing more than passive. He doesn't quite care, and doesn't want to think about what happened to him. He was just another casualty, he took the fall for others, and that's something he could live with. At least it wasn't Kenny.

"It's not fair, I'm sorry," Craig says; but his words mean nothing. There are a lot of things in this world that aren't fair, and pointing out the obvious won't change anything. Kenny just nods and lets out a soft sigh.

"Why aren't you with them?" Kenny finally asks. The dark-haired man blinks in mild surprise. "You were invited, why didn't you go too?"

Craig bites his lip. Because he doesn't want to receive an award for a pat on the back when the ones giving him the honor are the ones he's fighting against. Because it's not fair to take money for himself when it could be used for rescuing other slaves. Because Kenny should be up there instead of them. But he's here, and so is Craig.

But it's not like he's going to tell Kenny that. He's pretty sure Kenny is upset that he didn't go in the first place.

"I didn't feel like it," the blonde accepts this answer with a slight shrug to his shoulders before he lays down. "And I felt like you should have been there. Butters didn't go either, he has some final for school that he couldn't miss." Actually that isn't for another week. But Kenny seems to lighten up at this.

"So, Kyle, Stan, and Eric went?" Craig nods, "that makes sense." He can't help but chuckle; yeah, they're still assholes. It makes perfect sense. But he knows Kenny doesn't need to hear any of that. "Craig, I don't know how to feel."

"Well..." he isn't good with feelings. He isn't sure he can say anything to make Kenny feel better. But he'll try. "That's understandable."

"A part of me is so... confused. And angry. But then there's this other part... I miss Master. Why would I miss someone who did this to me?"

"Because he's all you knew, he made you believe he was the only reason you were alive. You're not going to walk away from that without feeling anything."

"He tricked me. Why am I so... stupid?!"

"You're not," Craig offers. Kenny is getting upset again. The doctors say his anger has been flaring up. Perhaps if he has all kinds of questions no one tries to answer without sugar-coating he'd be angry too. "Just misguided. You were fifteen, I probably would have done the same thing." Kenny perks up and tilts his head slightly.

"You would have?" Craig shrugs. He wouldn't have taken a job opportunity like that, no. But given the chance his fifteen year old self would have run away from home. "I don't feel free," Kenny says before Craig could even think of getting a word in. "I don't know what I can do when I'm out of here. I don't mean anything. I'm useless." The black-haired man sighs heavily and shakes his head.

"What do you want to do?" He asks. The blonde stares at his hands, touches the nubs that used to be fingers. He closes his eyes and tears slip from his eyes. Unsure of what else to do, Craig puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's your choice, dude. There's a whole world out there waiting for you."

"But here I am..." he looks down at himself. Craig laughs.

"Yeah, here you are... after all these years. It's kinda crazy," it kind of feels like those seven years without him were a few days. It's hard for everyone to wrap their heads around, especially Kenny. "You have two weeks left, right?" Craig can't help but worry that those two weeks remaining would be more permanent than just leaving the hospital.

"Yeah," it's been a trial to get him to stop saying "yes, sir", or "yes, ma'am," to everyone, so Craig's heard. He can see he struggles with the informality of his words.

"And then what?"

Kenny fidgets, then scratches his arm. His eyes focus on the blankets, and then he finally sighs.

"I don't belong here."

The words are like an anvil. Craig closes his eyes and lets his words hit home. His heart pounds in his head achingly and he bites his lip. What is he supposed to say to that? He knows the intentions behind his words. He knows what Kenny means to do as soon as he's out of the hospital.

"You can't do that..." he can't listen to anyone talk about killing themselves, let alone... "you're home, and..." he's terrible at comfort. He doesn't know what else to say. He can't convince Kenny that killing himself is a terrible decision. It just is. "Karen would-"

"Who _cares_?!" He screams, tears streak down his face, "you do?! All of you...?! I was a pawn. I was your claim to fame. You _forgot_ about me, you didn't care! I didn't matter until you thought you could make a quick buck. I _am_ that quick buck. To you, to Eric, to Kyle and Stan... to Master... to EVERYONE!" he's breathing heavily and shaking. Craig's jaw is dropped in awe at the fury in his eyes. "And who _cares_ what Karen thinks?! She killed herself for the same damn reason! And what about what I want?! Huh? I thought this is what that was all about, Craig!"

"I-it-" he's interrupted by a snarl from Kenny.

"This is my life and I don't _want_ it anymore! I'm tired, Craig... I'm useless. When an animal's lame, you put it out of its misery, right? Well I'm lame. I've been lame for _years_..." he's speaking in a whisper. He doesn't care to wipe the tears from his cheeks and hands. "I'm _tired_..." his voice cracks and wavers.

Craig's eyes burn and he squeezes them shut for a brief moment. He's trembling as he listens to each and every word Kenny says. What scares him is he can't argue, except to one thing.

"Don't tell me I didn't care, or we didn't," he says in a calm tone, "I became a private investigator to find you. I..." he shakes his head, "I don't need to explain myself to you, y'know. If you want to die... then die." He doesn't say this to evoke a reaction; it's the truth. It doesn't startle Kenny, anyway. He just blinks and stares at his disfigured hands. There is no swaying someone who is set on their decision. Kenny's included in this idea.

"What other option do I even have, Craig? At least you'd all have some kind of closure about what happened to me."

"Yeah."

"I'd probably end up out there again in two weeks. It's what I know... I'm a really cheap, really good lay."

"That sounds like you, alright..." Craig can't help but chuckle at that. Kenny furrows his eyebrows. "You used to say that before you were taken. Bragged about it."

"I was just a kid." Craig smiles sadly. He still is.

"...yeah, I guess." He pulls out his phone, "wanna hear a song?" Kenny shrugs, then sits up a little. He winces and Craig gives him a stern look. The blonde lays back down and presses his hand to his stomach; his fingers dance along the stitches. More scars.

Craig presses play on his phone, and watches as Kenny takes his phone. He's hanging off every word of the song, and by the end of the first chorus his eyes are wet once more.

_"But I'm a creep_  
><em>I'm a weirdo<em>  
><em>What the hell am I doing here?<em>  
><em>I don't belong here..."<em>

When the song is finished Kenny's ear is pressed to the phone. He's rocking back and forth and his eyes are closed as he listens to the music. Craig puts a hand on his arm; he doesn't flinch. Kenny listens again and again, to the point Craig is half-tempted to take the phone and play any other song he could possibly find. But it resided with Kenny somehow, and that's reassuring to him.

"Want to see pictures from when we were little? Kyle has some on Facebook." Kenny's giving him a dumb look, "shit, you don't remember Facebook?" he tries not to laugh at the blank stare and half annoyed eyes that glare at him in response. "Has no one seriously showed you?" He shakes his head, and moans in pain as he scoots a little closer to Craig. "It'll be easier to see if you sit up, but-"

"Or you could lay with me." Craig blinks in surprise. "Just don't touch me."

He shrugs and pulls his arm from Kenny, who actually smirks a little. Although he doesn't have his memories, he's sure acting like the Kenny he knew years ago. It's kind of nice.

And so they flip through pictures on Craig's phone, from pre-school to first grade, to fourth and sixth. All the way up to sophomore year of high school. Kenny laughs at some of them, touches the screen, Craig zooms in on some of them.

"So... that's us," Kenny mumbles as he stares at a photo of their sophomore year homecoming dance. Craig nods. "I recognize all of you... but I just can't remember."

"You will."

"What are you going to do? Are you going to go back to being a private investigator?" Craig nods.

"Probably, except I went rogue on this. The firm I'm with... ugh, don't get me started." Kenny tilts his head, "we mostly get angry husbands or wives to watch their spouses. And I wanted to do actual work, not make another episode of "Cheaters"." The blonde didn't so much as blink; that's Craig's attempt at a joke. "So I'm really not looking forward to doing that again."

"What would you do?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Your other option, besides dying." Kenny tenses next to him and takes his phone once more, then flips through the album.

"Kay," he finally says. Craig leans on his left arm and feels his limb shake from the awkward angle; he's really uncomfortable. But Kenny seems to be content so he'll probably stay there.

"I would probably go into photography or something. Everyone's doing in these days so it's pretty fucking pointless. Or I'd work with animals."

"You like animals?" Craig nods. "I really want to pet one." He smiles a little; when Kenny gets out maybe he'll take him to a pet shop before he gets the endless pizza that Butters has also promised him.

"You liked cats when you were younger. I was more of a guinea pig kid."

"Craig the guinea pig kid. That has a ring to it," Kenny laughs at his little joke, then clutches his stomach and grimaces. Craig can't help but roll his eyes and smile softly.

"Okay, what would you do?" He asks. Kenny shrugs; he doesn't know. He isn't sure what he liked before, besides music.

"Live, I think. I don't know what I would do. Go to Egypt... I don't know why. Eat the best chocolate in the world, get a cat, read a book, sleep in my own bed."

"Is that all?" Kenny shakes his head, then curls up in the blankets. Craig scoots farther from him as he sits up. Kenny doesn't react, except he pulls the blanket tighter around him and closes his eyes.

"I would want to feel loved. Not used." Craig considers arguing, saying he is loved, but then he realizes the three who should say it to him are in Washington DC accepting award and giving grandiose speeches about their bravery in saving their friend. To Kenny, that seems like they're using him. Maybe in a sense they actually are; they just don't realize it. Craig feels like that happened a lot when they were children.

"You don't now?" The blonde shrugs his shoulders and doesn't say anything. "Well you should."

"But I don't."

Craig can't say anything. He lets out a shaky sigh and clenches and unclenches his hand to get the pins and needles feeling to stop. He wants to say it, but he can't, because he never says it to anyone and doesn't want to give the wrong impression. But Kenny's trembling and looking at him with the saddest eyes he has ever seen and he really doesn't want to come this far only to find out Kenny McCormick killed himself because no one gave a damn. And he really doesn't want to lose Kenny again, for good.

So he says nothing. But he wraps his arms around Kenny and pulls him into a gentle hug. He isn't quite sure what he expected from this, but it definitely wasn't Kenny sobbing into his shoulder and digging his nails in his shoulders as he clings to him.

"I'm here..." Craig finally whispers, he can't say it. He's never said it before. But his intentions are understood.

And it hurts him to know no one else has done this. Because it's not over, not really. They got him out of there, all right. But they still have to save his life. And right now that seems impossible.

Saving someone from their torment is one thing. Saving them from their own self is an entirely different battle.

But as Craig tries his best at soothing Kenny, he knows it's worth it. He just hopes he can help Kenny believe that as well.


	17. April 23, 2:19 PM

A welcome home party for someone who has no home is pointless.

Especially when as soon as the last person leaves and he's left alone he's going to kill himself.

They don't care in hospitals, that's the thing. They just want you in and out as soon as possible. It's easy to fake it... it's all he knows, anyway.

Nurses buy sweet smiles just like clients. Doctors make sure he's stable enough, just like Master.

It's all the same to him. He can't tell good from bad, right from wrong. He isn't sure whether his friends want to make him feel safe or torture him. Sometimes it feels like both.

He can almost taste their facades. He sees it in their eyes. They're tired, they're stressed. He's a burden.

The sooner he's gone the sooner their lives can go back to normal.

They should have left him, he's decided. They shouldn't have even bothered to find him. It's not worth it. Their efforts are in vain.

All he wants to do is apologize but they won't hear it.

They're too busy with interviews and releasing more information and watching the guys who should have saved him get put away for buying those just like him. The FBI, congress, senate... everyone uses people just like him. Everyone uses him even though he's free. But he's not, not really.

The voice in his head won't _SHUT UP_ and the ache in his gut won't disappear.

People he doesn't know are crying, telling him he's brave.

He's scared. He's so fucking scared he decides to hide in the basement of whoever's house he's in and lays on the floor.

This feels normal.

He's not used to people and emotions. He's not used to the smell and taste of food that makes him nauseous. It's all for him yet he doesn't want it. It's all fake, wrong, pointless. No one gives a shit. Otherwise...

They probably do. But he doesn't know them enough to trust their pitying smiles. They don't touch him, they wouldn't dare.

He runs his cheek over the floor of the basement. There is carpet. It's not cold; it's comfortable. Nothing is normal anymore. It's all different. But at least the air is colder and he can actually be alone.

It's tempting to kill himself now. But a lame dog lies down when no one is around. Although he's alone now, he can hear the thunderous footsteps on the ceiling. He swears the world is going to crumble around him. His hands shake; he folds his arms over his chest and lays on his stomach. He closes his eyes and tries to block everything out.

_"You can't run from me,"_ Master's voice echoes in his head. The crack of a belt snaps in his brain and he swears he feels the sting of the leather on his back. He cringes. _"You will always be mine..." _

Oh God, oh God just make it stop.

_"He's going to hurt you,"_ Oksana says in a distant memory. Her hands dab at the wounds on his flesh with her torn undergarments. _"Every time you try to get out of here... don't. Please?"_

Well, he's out. He should be dead, but he's out. That's one thing she got wrong.

He has a choice; he is in control of his life. He's no longer under Master's authority. For all intents and purposes he is free, he's no longer a slave, he has a chance to make a life for himself. But he doesn't want to, and that's his choice.

He glances around the room; it's dark but the window at the top of the basement allows for some light. It's more than Master's basement, anyway. There aren't any objects he could use to easily kill himself; his own hand? He's sure reflexes would stop him in the end. He can't even trust himself to get the job done properly.

He puts his hand around his neck, anyway. His fingers are cold and he can feel his pulse thump against his fingers. Calm. His heart doesn't race with fear anymore.

His fingers press into the skin, slowly, a gentle knead turns into suffocation and he closes his eyes. His fingers feel like Master's; the fingernails dig into his throat. He keeps his hand steady; his legs curl, his face feels hot.

"Kenny?" He gasps as he lets go of his neck, turns around on his stomach, and fights to not press his cheek to he floor. His heart races in his head, the blood rush makes him dizzy. "What are you doing down here?"

It's Butters, who has come to bring him back upstairs, to watch people who didn't have their life taken away laugh and talk as if only a few weeks have gone by since they last saw each other. No one has talked to him, no one has even looked at him.

Because it's not for him, not really. It's to commemorate all of their hard work in bringing the lost boy back home.

"I..." he trails off. His voice is hoarse. He swallows. "I don't know."

Butters sits next to him and offers him a cup. He looks down and can't help but wonder if it's piss. Butters sees the look on his face, knows he's cautious, then takes it and drinks it himself. He takes the cup and takes a hesitant sip. It's some kind of soda; he doesn't like soda. It just makes him even more thirsty.

"It's too loud up there, I think." Kenny remains silent. There are too many people he doesn't know or care about.

"Yeah." He just agrees to make it seem like that was the issue.

"Your brother is going to be here soon... your parents aren't here because they're getting him at the airport." He nods. "Have you decided what you want to do after this? I mean..." as far as where he's going to stay. Honestly, he doesn't care. It doesn't matter anyway but he can't tell him that.

"Not really," he mumbles and sits up. His arms are folded and Butters is watching him with a soft smile. "I guess you or Craig." Butters smiles even more. But Kenny knew that answer a month ago. Both of them seem genuine with him. He actually feels comfortable around both of them. And they also seem to like each other, as well as everyone else.

You see, he's noticed some things about who his friends are. Kyle and Stan are very close, inseparable. They always stick together and side with one another. Cartman and Stan are amicable but aren't necessarily close, but Kyle and Cartman want to kill each other half the time but he other half are close. It confuses him. Butters seems to be friendly with everyone, except there is something between him and Eric that he can't quite put his finger on. It's tension, that's for sure. And then Craig doesn't seem to like anyone but Butters and Clyde. Clyde is nice but isn't around much.

So he tends to stay closer to Butters and Craig, because they get along the most and are the most welcoming to him. So his choice isn't that hard to figure out. But it seems to make Butters happy.

"Well, I-I have a small apartment, but I'm more than happy to have you as my roommate. We'd look for a two bedroom but I could sleep on the couch for awhile. Craig has a bigger place though. So it's up to you, we'd both be happy to have you around." Butters glances at his phone and grins. "Speaking of Craig..."

"Hmm?" Kenny asks. He's kind of bothered by the fact he hasn't come to the party yet, although he doesn't like the party, but he figured Craig would at least be here to tell him it's stupid. But Craig hadn't really visited him in the hospital. He just holds on to the conversation they had last month when they first met.

"He's got something for you, but we're going to have to go outside." Kenny glances to the stairs and grimaces. Butters knows exactly what he's thinking and smiles a little. "There's stairs in the next room that lead directly outside. We can avoid everyone else."

Kenny can't help but wonder what Craig could possibly have for him. It doesn't make sense. He's never been given anything so why? It doesn't make sense. But he says nothing as he follows Butters up the stairs. He stays close; he always stays close to Butters. He feels safe with him; as if Butters was his older brother, or guide, to show him the way. Butters would be a great sibling; he's kind of scared to meet his real brother.

As they step outside Kenny covers his eyes from the harsh rays of the spring afternoon. Craig is leaning against a silver car with a large box in his hands. Kenny's grimace deepens.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Craig says, then smiles at Kenny, "I got you a present."

He had a feeling it was a gift he just didn't understand why. There is absolutely no point to a gift. He's back from the hospital... he's back from seven years of slavery. That doesn't mean he gets a present; a reward for a good job or being in their lives again. But it's nice of him to do, he just can't accept it. Especially if he's not planning on being here much longer.

"I don't wa-"

"Just take it," Craig interrupts, "I want you to at least see it, and if you don't want it then I'll take it." Kenny furrows his eyebrows and Craig holds the box farther away from him. Hesitantly, Kenny takes it. He doesn't remember ever being given a gift, a physical object at least. Every Christmas he and Oskana would hold each other. That was nice.

But this is different. This is a real, tangible gift. Not that those Christmases never had value; he holds on to those memories with as much warmth as his heart can have. But this is something he can most likely put physical value on, see, touch... it excites him and scares him at the same time.

He pulls back the lid and stares with wide eyes.

"You said you wanted to pet a cat. I adopted him from the rescue shelter. He's missing an eye and and his tail, and his ears messed up but..."

"I _want_ him," Kenny gushes and slowly put his right hand in the box in case the scruffy tabby cat would be afraid of his missing fingers. He feels the cat's breath on his skin as it sniffs him. Slowly, he runs his hand down its back, feels the cat arch into the touch, and laughs. "He's so soft..."

"You can hold him," Craig says with a smile in his voice; Kenny doesn't catch the look he and Butters share. "He's real friendly. If you scratch the back of his next he'll be your best friend right away." Kenny does that, and slowly reaches his right hand in. He lifts the cat and places him against his chest.

"Hey there," Kenny says, his lips twitch as the cat purrs in response to the gentle scratching, "I love him."

"You can keep him," Butters says. This catches Kenny's attention. There's something in his eyes that neither of them have seen before, and it's reassuring, especially to Craig.

But Kenny's afraid to ask his question or to say anything wrong. He knows it's just Butters and Craig; they are the two he feels the most comfortable around. But still, he can't bring himself to ask it.

"Unless you don't want him," Craig adds with a knowing look on his face. Kenny makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, then hugs the cat tighter. It doesn't like it, and tries to get out of his arms. When he loosens his hold, it relaxes slightly. "I take that as a yes." Kenny nods his head and hums in content as he presses his mouth to the cat's side. He feels the vibrating purrs against his lips. "Now, there's something else. Something you might want to put down your new friend for."

When Kenny looks at Craig he sees a serious expression in his features. So he does as he's told, and Butters closes the lid; now the holes in the box make sense.

Craig sighs heavily, then stands up straight.

"You know I'm a private investigator?" Kenny nods, "well... after I was released from the hospital I did one last investigation before I quit." Kenny's eyes light up; he quit after all. At least Craig could do what he really wants to do now. "And I want you to meet someone."

Someone?

Kenny's blood runs cold. He doesn't want to see Master's boss. He doesn't want to see anyone from there. But Craig wouldn't do that, would he? He blindly reaches for something and feels Butters' hand squeeze his. Kenny whimpers and glances around fretfully.

But Craig opens the backseat and reaches inside, then stands back up and turns around to face him. He's holding a small bundle in his arms; a baby. Kenny's eyebrows furrow.

"Who..." he trails off as he sees the face. He knows that face. He just needs to see the eyes.

His throat tightens. He can't breathe. Butters has a hand on his shoulder now.

"Her name is Charlotte Grace, but you know her as Patience."

Kenny can't help but let out a choked sob, and with a shaking hand, reaches out to the three month old infant. He wants to hold her, see her eyes, feel her hand grab his finger. He heard her first cries, cleaned her and cut her umbilical cord with his teeth, cleaned her mother and held Oksana as she nursed her. They laughed and cried together, for a moment in time. Before the guards took Patience away from a screaming Oksana, who accepted their fates.

And here she is now, that little baby, only she's pink and sleeping and has tiny little curls of blonde hair. She looks perfect, and he's too afraid to touch her.

"Are you okay?" Kenny nods but feels the tears streak down his cheeks. His shoulders shake and his gut has been wrenched from his stomach and contorted to mirror the ache and knots in his heart and throat.

"She's been living with a foster family in Logan County after she was found one night."

"Where?"

"I don't..." Craig trailed off, "someone heard crying in a dumpster and found her."

Kenny's jaw clenches; Butters squeezes his shoulder.

They are silent as Kenny just stares at the sleeping baby. She makes a noise and he starts to her, but refrains from touching her. Both Craig and Butters know he wants to; but he won't.

"What are you thinking?" Butters asked, Kenny just continues to stare at her. He finally put his finger against her hand. It's so small and soft, she makes a tiny sound and squirms in Craig's arms.

"I want her."

The black-haired man sighs heavily and bites his lip. Butters pulls his hand from Kenny's shoulder.

"Kenny, I don't think-"

"She's the only person I know!" Kenny can't help but cry out. "I made a promise... I have to. I _have_ to..."

"Craig..." Butters trails off uneasily.

"I'll see what I can do. It'll take a long time... a very long time. But you realize if you _do_ become her guardian, her parent... then... you have to be here for her. You know that, right? You can't just disappear or anything. Once you agree to this you have to show that you're serious. You have to stay."

Kenny is silent and stiff next to Butters. The taller blonde doesn't understand the big deal behind Craig's words, but the stare down between the two was almost unbearable.

"Wanna know what Charlotte means?" Craig asks finally, breaking the silence. Kenny keeps quiet as he lets Craig's words sink in. "_Free man_, that's what Charlotte means."

Kenny sobs at that, and buries his head in Butters' shoulder. The lighter blonde sends Craig a look, who carefully lays Charlotte back in her car seat.

All Kenny wants is to be free. It's why he's planning to kill himself. But as he stares at that tiny little baby sleeping soundly, he can't help but wonder...

Free man.

She came into this world the daughter of a slave. She was thrown away, abandoned.

Just like Master told him he had been.

But she is free. And he made a promise to Oksana that he would take care of her. And after all this time... here she is. A beautiful baby girl, a free girl.

He looks at his reflection in the window. He was born free; he was taken.

His hands, his beating heart. He clenches his fists and listens to the drumming in his head. The steady thump of his heart that is his.

Free man.

He is alive. He is disfigured but these hands are _his_. He looks down at them, down at the cracked skin, the two nubs that used to be his fingers. He looks at the sleeping baby, safe and sound.

Kenny laughs; he can't help it. He laughs until his stomach aches and he's crying, until he can hardly stand. His body shakes with his hysteria, and although they don't know why, Butters and Craig are smiling too.

"These are my hands," he finally says, voice shaking with his amusement. Butters nods, his smile fading. "My heart."

"Yeah," Craig says, and Kenny looks at his reflection, at the watery blue eyes that stare back at him, the young face, the blonde hair. He looks to the little girl and hears her quiet baby noises as she sleeps.

He remembers her. Out of everyone in his life, he knows her. He knows her from the very beginning of her life. He held her and kissed her wet little head and cleared her lungs so she could breathe.

He doesn't remember Butters or Craig, or anyone in that house. But he knows her.

Charlotte.

Patience.

He was patient. He suffered in silence for too long. He nearly died. He wanted to die.

His eyes look around at the spring afternoon. Life goes on. For all the neighbors care a birthday party could be happening in there rather than celebrating the return of a boy who was lost for seven years.

Life goes on. With each passing second life continues, not a second thought is passed by some stranger on the street. To everyone else he is just a small man with scars and missing fingers. He's not a slave. He's just another person.

He was patient.

And now he looks at that little girl. That little girl who has moved on from her first few hours of hell. Who will never know her mother.

But she should know someone. She shouldn't be no one.

He was No One. He was Nothing.

And now he's someone.

He's a free man.

And with Charlotte... maybe he could let her know she was not forgotten. That from her first breath, her first scream, she was loved. That her mother was a strong woman and not a whore, a mother who loved her and begged him to watch over her.

He had to keep that promise to Oksana.

Kenny looks up, looks at Craig, and nods.

"I'll stay."

Craig can't fight back his smile, and Kenny laughs a little as he wipes his eyes, "I'll stay."

Butters doesn't know the meaning of his words, doesn't know why he feels so happy, but he pulls Kenny in a hug and they laugh. His best friend. He has his best friend and Craig, and he has Charlotte.

He doesn't have a home, his memories, but he has a name. He has a purpose. He is Someone.

And, he laughs, he is 42, after all... as Craig said. He is Charlotte's world, and everything.

"I'm alive," he sobs as Butters squeezes him tight. He digs his nails in his back, "I made it, didn't I? It... it's worth it?"

"You're worth it," Butters replies with a smile. Kenny hums and lingers in the hug for another few seconds before he launches himself at Craig. He squeezes the tall man tightly, to Craig's surprise.

"I'm free... aren't I?" he asks, voice muffled by Craig's shirt. He feels Craig relax from his tense stance.

"I don't know," he answers as he rubs Kenny's back. He doesn't mind the touch. He feels safe with them. Warm. Loved. "Are you?"

Kenny remains silent for a moment as he considers his questions. An hour ago he would have said no. Five years ago this is everything he wanted. He earned his scars from trying to escape... and now here he is. He's standing on a street, in warm clothes, outside on his own accord. He has two of his friends, he has friends!, next to him, a cat, and he knows Oksana's baby is safe.

His whole life has changed faster than he could have imagined. When death was his only means of freedom he was satisfied. But now... as he breathes in the warm air, feels himself grinning, he feels like there may be something else. He just can't stop smiling.

His memories may never come back. They may remain with his sister. Karen... she will be their keeper. She holds them, loves them... perhaps he will have them once again when he is ready to see her. He isn't... he realizes this as the heat of the sun beats down on him. She will be his guardian angel. She will watch over him, teh parts of him he maybe shouldn't remember. At least until freedom has a different meaning for him.

For now...

"N-not yet," this surprises Craig, who has a protective hand around his side. Kenny doesn't mind. "I need... I need help." Help to cope with what he has gone through. Help to get over Master. Help to know how to live. He can't do this on his own. Hell, he can't do anything on his own right now. And the looks on their faces reassures him that that's okay.

He's in the real world after living in hell, and he has no idea how anything works. Seven year of absence has left him out of touch. Nothing quite makes sense. But they'll help him. He'll move on from this, somehow.

"But I will be." Craig's hand pulls him in to a hug and he lingers.

"Me too," he whispers, then pats his shoulder before he lets him go. "So," he begins, Kenny remains close to him, "Charlotte's foster parents allowed me to have her for the day after they say my identification. Would you like to take her inside?" Kenny looks down at the baby and smiles. She looks beautiful. She looks like life... feels like it too.

A part of him doesn't want to go back in that house. But they're his friends... family possibly too... and he wants that. He may not remember them. But... if they're going to be a part of his life then he needs this.

So Kenny nods and slowly lifts Oksana's baby. Her fingers clutch his shirt and her head rests against his chest, just under his chin. He smiles. She feels perfect.

The three of them walk inside, Butters with Kenny's cat, and Craig walking alongside Kenny.

"Dude!" Kyle cries, then eyes the baby in Kenny's arms, "what's... this?" Kenny just smiles and caresses the baby as he had when she cried for her mom.

"My life," he replies with a soft smile. Kyle eyes Butters, who just squeezes Kenny's shoulder.

"Kenny!" Clyde cries from somewhere, he can't see, "where've you been?"

The question everyone has been wondering for seven years. He just shrugs and presses a kiss to Charlotte's forehead.

"I've just been over there..."

_Fin._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I was originally going to kill Kenny, and I was originally going to kill Craig. But then I realized that defeats the purpose for my story; the purpose is awareness. To hear the stories, to show that people who have gone through these terrible things, whether slavery, abuse, rape... they can move on. It may not be a happy ending but they have the choice to accept what has happened to them. <strong>

**This is simply a work of fiction. But it's a work of fiction that depicts true events. Modern day slavery is a very real, very prominent illegal trade. 14.4 million people are currently trafficked, either for sex or labor. The United States has a small number in comparison to the world. But it is very real here... and every where. This is a work of fiction that I hope can enlighten you to learn about this, to be aware of the fact that prostitutes very well may not be prostitutes. People working odd hours may not be legal workers. They are victims who are often thought of as the criminal.**

**Victims are not just women and children. Boys and men are also victims. Castration is often done to boys if they are taken young enough if they are in the sex trafficking ring. **

**Parents sell their children. Parents pimp their children out.**

**Please do not take this lightly. I gave them a happy ending because I wanted to show the strength and perseverance of people. But many, many people do not get this chance. The average life of a slave is seven years, if they're lucky. They are tortured, beaten, starved. Most don't ever have the chance to be free.**

**For more information please check out the Polaris Project.**

**Please be aware of this and know that one voice, one person can make a difference. **

**Thank you for reading. **


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